


Inherited Weaknesses

by Graendoll



Category: Knives Out (2019)
Genre: Canon Typical Racism, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Mild Femdom, Murder Mystery, Post-Canon, Praise Kink, Ransom Drysdale Being an Asshole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:47:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 61,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27572548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Graendoll/pseuds/Graendoll
Summary: Three years after the death of Harlan Thrombey, Marta finds herself in the uncomfortable position of being Ransom Drysdale's...something.
Relationships: Marta Cabrera/Ransom Drysdale
Comments: 141
Kudos: 364





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So wow.
> 
> I have been working on this fic for a really, REALLY long time and lets just say that 2020 really put a dent in my creativity. Suffice it to say this came out of a prompt and was supposed to be a short one shot that somehow morphed into the nearly 60k word monstrosity it became.
> 
> Anyway, it's all written, mostly edited, and will be posted on a regular schedule as per my usual habit, probably a chapter a week.
> 
> There aren't really any triggers, per se, except the canon-typical racism. Also there is a teeny tiny amount of Spanish in this fic which I will translate at the end of the appropriate chapter. However, I am not a native speaker and not fluent so if you are either of these things and see an error in my Spanish, please point it out as I didn't have a fluent beta.
> 
> Enjoy!

Marta couldn’t really remember exactly _why_ she visited Ransom for the first time.

It had been shortly after his sentencing, a complete whim, after months of lawyers and fighting and exhausting interactions with his family. Linda mentioned him every time they sat across the large conference table from one another at the law offices, throwing accusations at Marta that included everything from framing Ransom for Fran’s murder to colluding with him to get the will changed and to kill Harlan. Through it all, Marta couldn’t help but remember that Harlan had always told her Ransom was his favorite, that despite his arrogance and his playboy reputation, he was the most like Harlan in temperament and intellect. Somehow the idea that perhaps Ransom was her best connection to Harlan because of their alleged similarities had managed to burrow under her skin and convince her that her time wouldn’t be wasted if she went to the prison for a visit.

It hadn’t gone particularly well.

Ransom had been seated across from her, blue jumpsuit making his eyes burn bright, wrists handcuffed loosely together with a long chain, his fingers laced together and resting on the table between them. He sat relaxed in the small plastic chair, taking up space like he was still entitled to it. Like he was sitting on a throne.

His blue eyes had tracked her as she approached him, calculating and resentful. Undeterred, Marta had settled into the chair across from him, spine straight and refusing to look away from his gaze even while she recalled the feel of his breath on her cheek.

“Are you here to puke on me again?”

A choking sort of laugh escaped her at the unexpected question. “No.”

“I’d probably deserve it.”

“You definitely deserve it.”

“Don’t hold back.” He adjusted his posture, shoulders rolling as his feet scuffed the floor. “Tell me how you really feel, Cabrera.”

Marta looked over her shoulder, glancing at the guard who nodded slightly, before reaching down and pulling the Go board out of the canvas grocery bag she’d brought with her. It was a portable board, made from some sort of flexible plastic that she’d rolled up into a tube. When she had called the minimum-security prison, they had explained that she wouldn’t be able to bring the large wooden board, so she’d left that at home. The travel board had passed the security check, along with the plastic pieces that came with it. Without comment, she unrolled the game board and straightened it out before looking up at Ransom again.

“We’ve never played, and I miss Harlan. You’ll have to do.” She held up the velvet bags in her hands. “Black or white?”

Ransom’s gaze locked with hers and she raised her brows, refusing to be intimidated by the obvious anger on his face. After a few moments he held his hand out petulantly, like a child demanding a snack.

“Black.”

Marta dropped the bag of the black stones in his hand, avoiding any sort of physical contact with him in the process, before reaching into her own bag and grabbing a stone in preparation for the game.

“Do your worst, asshole.”

“Hey, you came to me.” He plunked the first stone down and raised an eyebrow in challenge.

The conversation ceased as they set their stones on the board. It took ten minutes of back and forth before they were out of pieces and left staring at each other over the patterns they’d made. Marta was the first to look down, cocking her head at the board before quietly tallying the scores in her head.

“I win.”

He leaned forward and started gathering up the black stones with a pout. Marta kept her eyes on him while she scooped her pieces into a pile between her and the board. There were things she couldn’t help but notice about him, like how his hair, always so perfect, was mussed and the color dull. The scruff on his cheeks and chin was longer than his usually close shave, but all it did was highlight his decadent features. He didn’t look as though his short incarceration had been particularly hard on him. She struggled to decide how she felt about that before he cut her through her thoughts.

“Best two out of three.”

“I already beat you at your own game, Ransom. You don’t have anything to prove.”

“Zip it, Cabrera.”

He lost two more games before calling for the guard.

It became a _thing._

There was no specified schedule, Marta just went when she felt like it. She never wrote in advance or warned him that she’d be dropping by. The visits were usually predicated by thoughts of Harlan and she’d very often wake up one morning and just decide to make the forty-five-minute drive to the Massachusetts minimum-security penitentiary.

After eighteen months of random visits, he finally mentioned it.

“You never call, you never write. You just show up and expect me to clear my schedule for you, Cabrera. What if I were busy?”

She slid into the plastic chair, making a high-pitched squeaking sound as the metal feet dragged across the linoleum floor.

“Doing what, Ransom? Solitary?”

He glared at her and leaned over the table. “You’ve always been a bitch, you know that?”

Marta flushed and licked her lips. “I could stop coming.”

“No, you couldn’t. You started this. Obviously, you get something out of it. And you’re the nicest fucking person I know, so it can’t be just to watch me squirm.” He grabbed the black velvet bag out of her hand and leaned back. “How’s your sister?”

“At school.” She spread the travel board out, the edges rough at this point after being carried back and forth between her house and the prison for almost two years.

“Why do you come here?”

“Ransom – “

He slapped his hand down on the board, startling her. They both glanced at the guard hovering against the wall, but he wasn’t paying any attention to them.

“Come on, Marta. Why do you come here? Are we friends now or some shit?”

She looked at his hand on the Go board, broad fingers covering black and white stones, then back at him.

“I told you. I miss Harlan.” She dry-heaved and put her hand over her mouth, forcing herself to swallow.

Ransom smiled a half smile and leaned back in his chair.

“You miss Harlan.” Marta nodded, pressing her lips together behind her hand while he smirked and looked towards the guard. “Guard? We’re going to need a bucket over here.”

With another shudder, Marta stood, holding both hands to her mouth while she ran to the plastic trash can in the corner of the visitor’s room before sinking to her knees and vomiting directly into the bin. With a grimace she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand while Ransom chuckled behind her.

“Points for effort, Cabrera.” 

“Shut up.” She stood and gave the guard an embarrassed smile. He was looking at her with an expression that was an odd combination of concerned and horrified. “Sorry.”

He shook his head at her. “You’ve got ten more minutes, ma’am.”

“Thanks.” Her gaze landed back on Ransom who was looking at her smugly with his arms over his chest. She approached the table, fingertips still over her mouth, and sat down, not breaking eye contact with him. After a few moments locked in a staring contest with his smiling face, she dropped her hand.

“You killed Fran.”

His smile fell and his posture stiffened. “Allegedly.”

“You’re not a good person.”

“What’s your point?”

“You’re an egotistical, stubborn, manipulative – “

“Fuck off.” He rolled his shoulders and looked down at his lap.

“Asshole. But you still remind me of him. Even if it makes me hate you for it a little. I mean, more than I already did.”

“So why do you come here?”

Marta looked up at him and shrugged, committing to the truth because she didn’t want to puke a second time. “I like talking to you.”

“Huh.”

When she left, glancing back behind her, she saw him sitting in the same chair, knees wide, arms crossed over his chest, staring at his lap deep in thought.

* * *

Marta didn’t go back to the prison for months after admitting that she enjoyed talking to Ransom. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to return, on the contrary she _did_. That was the whole problem. After having her confession forced out of her by her own inability to lie and his insistence on asking direct questions, she resisted her desire to return and forced herself to stay away. The first time she received a call from the Department of Corrections she’d frozen, horrified by the number glowing on the screen of her cell phone, watching as it rang and rang before going to voicemail. When the same thing happened a week later, she’d nearly done the same thing, but at the last minute she’d swiped her thumb across the tempered glass and answered the phone with a tentative “hello?”.

_“Hey Cabrera. Decide to leave me to rot after all?”_

“No. I’m busy.”

_“Spending granddad’s money?”_

“I could just hang up on you.”

_“Yeah. I bet you don’t.”_

Somehow the phone calls became another _thing._

And it wasn’t like she didn’t have other people to talk to.

Alice was off school for the summer and Marta’s mother was ever present, sharing the large house with her and spending her days baking, walking and gardening. Her mother had always liked plants, and the large property of the Thrombey estate had seduced her, promising all sorts of botanical delights. The older woman had fallen completely in love with the grounds over the course of the last two years and was currently working on a rose garden. Marta had hired her some landscaping help at her request, an older, soft-spoken man who flirted unapologetically with her mother. The two of them spent most of their time with their heads together, huddled over some plant or another, whispering like mischievous children. Marta often watched them from the second floor, coffee mug in hand, shawl or blanket wrapped around her. She hadn’t seen her mother so carefree since she was a child. Part of that was due, of course, to the fact that her mother’s status as an undocumented immigrant had been changed to fully documented the year before after time and money was spent on a good immigration lawyer.

Alice, on the other hand, spent most of her time at the house inside on her phone or her laptop. She technically didn’t live with Marta any longer, since her school schedule kept her away and busy during the semester. She’d rented an apartment in the city, electing to live there with her friends while classes were in session. Alice only really only stayed with them for a month or two over the summer, and her vacation was typical of so many college students; sleeping late, going out at night, and generally being slothful. Marta rarely saw her as a result, and when she did make appearances it was generally to announce the fact that she’d be staying with friends in the city for a day or two.

Which is why, when Alice greeted her in the kitchen one morning nearly two years after that first visit with Ransom, fully dressed and arms crossed over her chest, Marta was more than a little surprised.

“Alice. Good morning.” The younger woman just watched her as she stepped over to the coffee maker. Marta put the single serving capsule in the machine and turned back around. “Is something wrong?”

“Why the fuck are you getting calls from the state pen?”

Marta froze. “I – what?”

Alice approached her and held out her cell, clearly showing a missed call from the Massachusetts Department of Corrections. “I looked at your call history.”

“Alice, this is my phone! It’s private!” Marta ripped the cell out of her sister’s hand and clutched it to her chest. “How did you even get to my history?”

“Your lock key is mama’s birthday.”

“Shit.” Alice just raised an eyebrow and continued to glare at her. “Yes, fine.” Marta shrugged. “You caught me.”

“It’s him, right? The asshole that tried to stab you?”

Turning back to the coffee pot, Marta grabbed her cup of freshly brewed heaven and took a moment to add sugar and cream into the dark liquid before turning back to her sister.

“Yes.”

“Why?” Her sister looked genuinely confused and concerned and Marta immediately felt terrible about having kept this a secret for as long as she had.

“It’s not what you think, ok? He was Harlan’s favorite. And a few months after Harlan died, I missed the old man and wanted to play Go because you and mama never learned and so I just…I just decided to go see him.”

Alice’s eyes widened. “You’ve been visiting the prison for _two years_?” Marta winced but before she could respond her sister continue. “Marta, this is bad. Like _que mal_ , you know?” Marta nodded and looked down at her mug.

“I know it looks bad. I _know._ But it’s not like - ”, Marta paused and stared at the steam coming off her mug, unsure how to finish her sentence.

“You have to stop going.” Something in Marta rebelled at the command.

“Alice – “

Her sister grabbed her arm and Marta yelped as the phone slipped from her hand and fell to the floor, watching the coffee slosh dangerously close to the edge of her mug. “He tried to kill three people! You were one of them!”

“Alice!” Her sister startled at the volume of Marta’s voice and let go of her arm. Maintaining her glare at her sister, Marta bent over and picked up her phone, checking the screen and finding a spiderweb crack where there once was clear glass. “You cracked my phone!”

“You can afford a new one!”

“Alice!” Her sister crossed her arms and gave her a look of concern, causing Marta to take a deep breath and attempt to calm down. “This is _my_ life. Ransom is-”, Marta searched for the right word. “He’s something, I don’t know. But I’m not going to stop visiting Harlan’s grandson just because you don’t like it. Just like I didn’t cut off the Thrombey’s because you didn’t want to share with ‘the horrible white people’. And just like I didn’t hire a maid because you decided you didn’t want to do your laundry.” Marta stood up a little straighter at her sister’s expression. “I’m safe and I know what I’m doing. _And_ I’m going to continue to play Go with him when I feel like it.”

“Marta – “

“I’m not changing my mind.” Marta stepped around her sister and walked to the fridge. “Do you want eggs?”

A huffing noise came from behind her and she heard Alice pull a chair out from the kitchen table. “Yes, fine. I still think you’re being a _pájaro loco_ , _pero,_ whatever.”

Marta just hummed and sipped at her coffee while she made her sister breakfast.

* * *

The visitor that arrived to see him that afternoon wasn’t the one he was expecting. Ransom watched the older man in a suit as he sat uncomfortably in the plastic chair on the other side of the table, adjusting his tie. The suit continued to clear his throat while Ransom watched him, annoyed. With his elbow on the table, Ransom toyed with his thumbnail for another few moments, running through all the different possible reasons some stranger with a leather briefcase was visiting him. Finally, he pulled his hand away from his lips and spoke.

“Did Linda send you?”

“No.” The man pushed his glasses up his nose, looking officious. “Are you Hugh Ransom Drysdale?”

“Yup.” Ransom made a popping noise with the “p” and cocked his head at the man across from him. “And you are?”

“Robert McIntyre. I was hired by the estate to prepare you for the parole hearing scheduled next month.”

“The estate? Interesting.” The estate meant _Marta_. Ransom smiled at Mr. Macintyre. “What can I do for you, Bobby?”

“It’s Robert. And I’m here to prep you for the hearing.”

“Prep away.”

“This is your first parole hearing, so I want to make sure you’re familiar with what kind of questions will be asked and how best to prepare your responses.”

Ransom nodded and listened to the suit explain all the possible questions he’d be asked. Coaching him on the right answers, things like expressing remorse and explaining that he understood why what he did was bad. It was all bullshit. He knew murder was illegal and morally reprehensible and frankly didn’t like to think too much about what it meant that he’d tried to off his own grandfather. Which was why he was only paying half attention to the droning voice of Bobby McIntyre when something he said caught his ear.

“Can you repeat that?”

“I said, it’s always beneficial to be able to tell the board that you have family or a relationship to go back to. Someone who can keep you out of trouble.”

“Huh.” The wheels in his head started spinning and he leaned forward to rest his hand on his chin. “Like a girlfriend?”

“Or family, yes.”

“Fuck my family.” He chewed on his thumbnail and narrowed his eyes at the suit. “So, when – “

“Drysdale, you have a visitor.” The guard’s booming voice had Ransom jerking his head up, a slow smile forming on his face when saw who it was. He ran his thumb across his bottom lip as he took her in. She always looked so damn sweet, like a hard candy wrapped in cellophane. By now he knew her packaging was deceiving. He’d always wondered about her back when she worked as his grandfather’s nurse, existing in some hard to define space between family and the help. He’d come to know her pretty well over the last few years.

Hard candy indeed.

“Hey Cabrera. Come meet Bobby.”

“It’s Robert.”

Marta approached cautiously, looking between the two men before stopping at the table. The canvas bag she always brought when she visited him was held by both hands in front of her waist. She had on pale blue jeans and a floral blouse under a pink jacket, looking like a flower shop had vomited her out. She was always so damn colorful.

“Nice to meet you Robert.”

Ransom grinned up at her. “Marta here is my girlfriend.”

Her eyes widened like saucers and she opened her mouth.

“Oh. Miss Cabrera. Of course. Nice to meet you.”

“I – we – “, Ransom couldn’t let her ruin everything by telling the truth or puking, so he cut her off.

“She’s shy. Are we done?”

“For now. Remember, the hearing is in three weeks.” With a stiff nod at Ransom, the other man stood and offered Marta his chair. “And Miss Cabrera if you could attend it would help a lot.”

“Sure.” She said with a sort of numb shock.

Ransom’s narrowed gaze followed the departure of the suit before he turned back to his other visitor.

“You have perfect timing.”

“Ransom.” She leaned forward and glared at him. “Why did you tell him that I was your girlfriend?”

He leaned over the table and looked her straight in the eyes, ignoring the gold flecks near her iris that he’d only just started noticing, and cocked his head at her. “Why did you hire someone to coach me through my parole hearing?”

She sat back abruptly. “That’s – I – the lawyer.”

“The lawyer?”

“She mentioned it. And I - Harlan would have wanted it.”

He watched her carefully. “Either you really believe that, or you’ve gotten way better at this not puking shit.”

She glared at him and he resisted the urge to laugh. “Harlan said he wanted you to learn consequence, but I don’t think he’d want to see you rot here.”

“Huh.” He continued to drag his teeth over his thumbnail while he watched her squirm.

“Ransom.”

“Marta.”

“I’m not your girlfriend.” He winked at her, but didn’t say anything, enjoying the way her nostrils flared. “I’m not going to pretend to be your girlfriend or tell anyone I am. That’s not why I come here. I come here because – “. She cut herself off and looked down at her lap. Her hands were fisted on her thighs and he watched as she clenched and unclenched them, wondering what exactly was going through her head.

“Still don’t know the answer?” Her head shot back up to look at him and he gazed back, a soft smile forming on his lips. “Are we going to play or not?”

“I have to go.” She stood abruptly, and he leaned back in his chair while she hurried across the room.

“See ya, Cabrera.”

* * *

Marta practically ran out of the prison.

She got to her car, sliding into the driver’s seat behind the steering wheel where she took deep gulps of air in order to feel less like she was going to pass out. Her knuckles were white on the stitched leather, hands clutching at the wheel with all her strength in order to stay grounded, and she closed her eyes before leaning back against the headrest.

Her conversation with Alice from the summer before was running through her head and she couldn’t help but wonder if the fact that she’d kept her visits with Ransom a secret hadn’t somehow distorted her perspective to the point where she no longer had a handle on what was appropriate and what was wildly out of line. When she’d seen her lawyer for their quarterly meeting, she’d mentioned the letter from the parole board. As one of Ransom’s victims, she’d been notified by the state of his pending parole hearing in the event she wanted to speak out against his release. The lawyer had asked her what her plan was, offering to prep her for the hearing if she was so inclined. But instead of asking for help on her own testimony, Marta had found herself concerned about Ransom, and whether _he_ might need to be prepped instead. Her lawyer looked at her briefly before giving a little shrug and offering up several ways in which she could assist with his parole.

Marta had settled on hiring someone to walk him through the hearing, never imagining that the simple decision would result in her sitting in the prison parking lot, having an existential crisis.

She’d gone from hating him, to actively working towards his release. He’d set the stage for her to kill his grandfather, he had actually killed Fran, and finally, he had tried to stab her, scaring her nearly half to death.

“What am I doing?” She muttered to no-one. “This is insane.”

She pushed the ignition button on the car and backed out of the parking space, accelerating out of the lot and away from the prison as quickly as she could.

The forty-five-minute drive took her less than thirty, and she pulled into the gravel drive in front of her house so fast she slid when she braked to park. The dogs greeted her as enthusiastically as always, but she didn’t pay them any mind, walking quickly to the house dropping the canvas bag containing the Go board next the front door before running up the stairs to the master bedroom. The pink jacket was tossed on the bed while she slipped out of her leather clogs, leaving them haphazardly in the middle of the floor. She started unbuttoning her blouse as she walked to the bathroom, reaching into the shower with one hand and turning on the water.

Hands shaking, she removed the remained of her clothes and stepped into the spray, jolting slightly at the cold water before yanking the glass doors closed behind her. With a flick of her wrist she adjusted the temperature slightly, then pressed her palms into the wall and bent towards the shower head, letting the water run over her back, while her hair dripped into her face.

“Stupid.” She muttered under her breath at herself. She’d learned to _like_ him. The asshole who threatened her, treated her like dirt, like he was better than she was, tried to _stab_ her in a room full of witnesses. Over the course of the last three years he’d become her friend and she hadn’t seen it. She’d been too scared to tell anyone what was happening and now she was looking straight at the consequences of her actions.

She’d _helped_ him.

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit.” She felt the tears fall, mix with the water from the shower. He’d get out, she knew he would. They’d parole him. He was in prison on attempted assault charges and aggravated homicide. The arson had been dismissed due to lack of forensic evidence, even with the recorded near confession. Harlan’s death had been deemed a suicide by the coroner before Ransom had said anything. His sentence had only been seven years total to begin with and she _knew_ that because he was rich, and he was white, and because she had _hired him a fucking lawyer_ , that this parole hearing would go his way. Especially if he told the entire parole board that the ‘poor Brazilian nurse’ he’d attacked was now his girlfriend.

She remembered the first time she told him where she was actually from. They'd been discussing his family and she’d made a comment about how no one had ever bothered to get to know her, alluding to the fact that each of them thought she was from a different country. He’d just shrugged and replied with ‘ _It’s not like you ever corrected any of us’_ before slapping down another Go stone and proclaiming her the loser.

It had been the first time they’d really argued since she’d initiated their bizarre friendship, and she remembered packing up the Go board mid game in irritation, leaving him without a backwards glance. She hadn’t gone back for three months after that, and when she had returned, he asked her directly where her family was from. She’d told him and that had been that.

Marta straightened and ran her hands through her hair, turning so her back was to the spray. She scrubbed herself clean and let the warm water run over her while she tried to calm down and think. It was like being back in time, to the day when she was wondering how she was going to hide the fact that she’d killed a man from a group of detectives, not realizing that she was playing Ransom’s game the entire time. Lulled into a sense of comradery that turned out to be nothing more than part of a plot founded on selfishness. It was too similar, and she suddenly wondered if he’d been playing her for a fool this whole time.

She let the shower wash away her thoughts for another quarter hour before she stepped out of the tile and glass enclosure and into the steam of the bathroom. With one hand, she wiped a clear spot into the mirror and looked at herself.

“You’re an idiot, Marta Cabrera.” Wrapping the large towel around herself, she tried to decide what her next move would be.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The results of the parole hearing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to post two chapters a week, so here is the second serving of Marta/Ransom cake for you all!
> 
> Just a couple of notes:
> 
> TW for mention of ICE.
> 
> Additionally, I tried to include Alice (Marta's sister) in the tags but for some reason Ao3 didn't let me. She plays a pretty significant role in this fic!

Ultimately, Marta decided not to go to the parole hearing, but it went exactly as she expected it to. The afternoon of the hearing she got a phone call from Ransom. She hadn’t answered his calls after their last visit, but he left her a voicemail.

_Marta. Sweetheart. I’ll see you in a few weeks._

And that was that. She’d refused to go back to the prison to see him after the last visit had launched her into a crisis of conscience. He’d even stopped their weekly phone calls, no doubt picking up on her lack of desire to speak with him. His short message on her phone was laced with humor, however, the deep timbre of his voice giving away his jovial mood.

It felt like a threat.

It felt like a promise.

But the part that bothered Marta the most was that it felt like good news. This alone was making her rethink everything she thought she knew about herself, about her goodness, about her strength. Ultimately, about her knowledge of right and wrong.

She wanted him to go away.

She wanted to watch him try to beat her at Go.

Once, years ago, she had thought they were friends, of a sort. She’d told him about what had happened to his grandfather, shared her fear and her distress over Harlan’s death. And Ransom helped her. Only he hadn’t. He had lied to her the whole time, used her to try to get his way. She _knew_ that he was more than capable of doing that again and that if it happened a second time it would hurt so much more.

“Fuck.”

“You okay _mija_?”

She looked up from her desk to see her mother standing in the hallway, looking at her with concern. “ _Si, mama_. I’m fine.”

“You look tired. Are you sleeping? I hear you up all hours of the night.”

Marta had _not_ been sleeping, her mother was correct. In fact, she had been trying to figure out what to do about Ransom. She had kept herself up until all hours of the night, tossing and turning, her mind a mess. But she hadn’t said a word to anyone about his release and didn’t want to worry her mother. She still had ten days to figure everything out. And she _would_ figure it out. Hopefully. Maybe she was still in denial. It was getting hard to tell.

“Is Mr. Jackson here?” She attempted to change the subject with the mention of the landscaper. It appeared to work, and she didn’t miss the faint color that bloomed across her mother’s cheek when she mentioned the man.

“He’s coming in a few minutes. We’re still working on getting all the rosebushes pruned for fall.”

Marta smiled. “Good.”

“You sure you’re okay, _hija_?”

“Yes, mama. _Estoy bien_.” She felt her stomach roil as she forced a smile on her face. Her mother nodded then continued down the hall to the back door, missing Marta turn to the trash can and puke up the coffee she’d just finished. She wiped her lips and stood, walking quickly to the small water closet off the hallway where she could rinse her mouth. Another glance in the mirror showed dark circles under her eyes and a sort of tightness around her lips that she didn’t like. With a frustrated sigh, she pulled her cellphone from out of her pocket and stared down at the cracked screen.

She really did need to replace that.

With an exhale, she scrolled through her contacts until she found the number she was looking for and pressed dial. It rang twice before a familiar voice answered the phone.

“Well, well, Miss Marta Cabrera. To what do I owe this honor?”

“Hello Mr. Blanc.”

“Is everything all right, Marta? You sound a bit peaked.”

“Yes.” Her stomach churned again, and she swallowed. “Well no. I’m not actually sure.”

“A mystery indeed! I am happy to offer whatever insight into your current state of indecision I am able. Tell me what has you so bewildered, Miss Cabrera.”

“Ransom is out on parole.” There was silence on the other side of the phone that dragged on so long Marta thought maybe the call had disconnected. “Mr. Blanc?”

“My sincerest apologies, Miss Cabrera, I do believe your announcement shocked me into quietude.”

“I can relate.”

A small chuckle made its way over the phone. “The wheels of justice do sometimes turn in mysterious ways, Miss Cabrera, but of greater consequence than the perhaps questionable decision made by jurisprudence is how, exactly, are _you?”_

“I don’t know. I think maybe…I’m ok? But then I think I shouldn’t be and I just- ”, she stopped herself.

“Miss Cabrera, it has long been my opinion that you are a good person. And as such I do believe that you would wish no ill will on any of your peers, even if the individual in question had perhaps been deemed unworthy of your graciousness many times over. It therefor does not surprise me in the least that you would feel conflicted at this time. My concern, on the other hand, is more practical and less metaphysical in manner. Are you _safe_ , Marta?”

“I think so. Ransom has no reason to hurt me.”

“Vengeance is a state of mind which makes no act seem unworthy of committing, but again my question is of the material. Do you have security and alarms?”

“Yes. We redid the house because of the death threats and ICE.”

There was another pause. “The nazi child?”

Marta just hummed into the phone while she stared down at the sink.

“Robust security does alleviate my concern about your physical safety. But, and please forgive my presumption of course, I feel as though there is a more pressing intellectual concern you’d have me resolve.”

Marta licked her lips. “I was visiting him. Ransom. This whole time. We’d play Go and talk and – “, her voice trailed off before she was forced to lie.

“I see.” She continued to trace the lip of the sink, unwilling to raise her head and meet her own stare in the mirror while she waited for Benoit to elaborate. “Are you his friend?”

“Maybe.”

“And is it, perhaps, this evolution of your relationship with the man who came at you in anger that has you questioning your goodness now on the eve of his release?”

“He’s not a good person.”

“I cannot argue with that assessment and will not attempt to dissuade you from your concerns, but with one exception. You _are_ a good person. I cannot and will not believe that there is anything in this world that would be capable of tainting that thing which you so clearly embody. A good nurse. A good _person_. Forgiveness is not a sin, Miss Cabrera.”

Marta nodded to herself before speaking. “Thank you, Mr. Blanc.”

“It is, of course, my pleasure. And please avail yourself of my conversation as needed. I fear that you have, perhaps, failed to share your concerns with your family otherwise you would have no need of my consultation.”

“Alice knows.”

“And does Miss Alice approve?”

“Of course not. She called me a crazy bird and silently judges me.”

“I confess to not understanding the relationship between sisters, but I suspect her silence stems more from concern than judgement.” There was another brief silence where Marta struggled to find something more to say. “I believe I have offered up all the assistance that you required, so I shall take my leave of you. Please do not hesitate to reach out, however, in the event you need a friend. I do like to think of our relationship as convivial enough to allow for these sorts of casual discussions.”

“I will, of course.”

“Goodbye, Miss Cabrera. Do not fret.”

“I won’t. Goodbye.” Marta disconnected the call and finally met her reflection in the mirror. Her conversation with Benoit had made her feel more herself and with a final nod at the scared girl looking back at her, she opened the door and went back to her office to call her lawyer.

* * *

The day of Ransom’s release found Marta sitting in one of the overstuffed chairs near the French doors that led out to the back patio, reading a book and drinking tea while curled up under a light blanket. The knock on her door, accompanied by the wild barking of the dogs, pulled her from her lazy weekend state of mind.

Tugging the blanket around her shoulders, she set her book down on the windowsill and walked down the open hallway to the front door. A quick peak through the glass confirmed what she was expecting to see, and with a small grimace, she opened the door.

“Honey, I’m home!” He stared down at her, expensive sunglasses hiding his eyes from her view, his cruel mouth in a sort of half smile.

Marta leaned to the side to look around him, saw the police car in the driveway, and straightened to face him.

“Why are you here?”

He lifted a foot and tugged his pant leg up, showing an ankle monitor sitting above his three-hundred-dollar leather loafers. It blinked at her once before he dropped his foot with a thud.

“Parole, sweetheart. Now look happy to see me.”

“But I’m not happy to see you.”

“Well just don’t pass out, then.”

“What do you – “, her breath escaped her as Ransom pulled her into a tight embrace, lifting her off the ground slightly until she was on her tip toes. Her arms were pinned between the two of them, and she was pressed up against the coarse wool of his sweater, the camel coat he always wore smelling vaguely of mildew and stale cologne. The hug lasted just long enough that she had begun to struggle when he put her down.

“We’ll have to practice that one.” He pushed past her, and she was left in the doorway, blinking twice at the squad car, watching as the driver executed a three-point turn and drove off. She tried to get her bearings as she stepped back into the house and shut the door. Her lawyer had explained possible options when they’d spoken last week, and Marta had been shocked to learn that there was a precedent for the situation she was presented with. Even though she was half expecting him to land on her front porch, she was still reeling from his presence. Bracing herself, she turned around to face him.

Ransom was standing in the entryway, right in front of the main staircase, looking down at her.

“Take off your sunglasses, you’re being rude.”

His lips twitched but he complied, pulling the Ray Ban’s off and staring down at her with a neutral expression.

“You can’t honestly think you’re staying here, Ransom.” She tugged the blanket tighter around her shoulders, acutely aware of her bare feet and the fact that he was a solid half foot taller than her. He’d always been sitting when she’d visited him in prison, and she hadn’t realized until this moment how much more equitable that position had been. She wanted to run up the stairs so she could look down at him but settled for straightening her spine and staring at him with her chin up instead.

He swung the sunglasses freely in his long fingers before looking around the house.

“I’d go to my place, but see, I told them we were in love and for some fucking reason they ate that shit up like cake. You’re stuck with me, Cabrera.”

She gaped at him momentarily, taking completely aback by his casual attitude.

“No.”

His expression changed and she stiffened as he stepped closer to her.

“No?”

She shook her head. “You can’t stay here, Ransom. My mother lives here. My sister.”

“I thought your sister lived in the city?”

“She has a room here, not that it’s your business.”

His brow furrowed and they sat locked in a staring contest for a few moments while she tried not to focus on the length of his eyelashes or how his hair looked more like it had three years ago than at any time while he’d been behind bars.

“I’ll play you for it.”

She blinked in confusion. “You’ll what?”

“Go. I’ll play you for it.”

Marta studied his face, trying to find the trick, the manipulation. There was always one lurking somewhere, but when she looked up at him, the dull morning light coming through the window at a low angle and casting soft shadows across his jaw, she couldn’t find one.

“Fine.”

She sensed him behind her as she went up the stairs, feeling as though she was leading a barely trained pet. They made their way up to Harlan’s study, and as Marta stepped onto the landing for the master bedroom, he paused.

“Huh. I haven’t been up here since I fucked with your bag.”

She stiffened and looked back at him, watching him watch her, as though he was waiting for her to become hysterical. It wasn’t as if the thought hadn’t crossed her mind. This entire situation was bordering on the insane, but she felt like she was in control, for now, and that alone gave her the presence of mind to ask a question that had been haunting her for quite some time.

“Why did you do it? He loved you.”

Ransom rolled his tongue over his teeth and stared at her. “He didn’t love me.”

“That’s a lie.” It came out more aggressively than she meant for it, her anger surprising even her.

“Is it?” He approached her again, the thick carpet muffling the sound of his steps as he crowded her against the paneling in the hallway. “You think just because he managed to give you an untainted version of his fucked-up affection that that’s what we all got?”

“I don’t know what you – “

“It was all a fucking game to him. Like pieces on the Go board. Like his goddamned books. We were all just puppets in his little power fantasy.” His eyes dragged over her, moving down her form before settling back on her face. “Except you. Well, until the end there.”

“That doesn’t give you the right to do what you did.” Her voice was shaking, whether from his proximity or from the intensity of her emotions she couldn’t be certain.

“Nope. But it sure was vindicating for a hot minute.”

She slapped him. Hard enough that her hand hurt, and his head jerked back and there was a ringing to the silence that came after. His head slowly turned back to face her and there was a cold glint in his blue eyes that she knew didn’t bode well. When her hand raised to slap him a second time it happened almost against her will. His head moved less with the second strike, like he’d braced for it, and Marta’s aim was less true, almost like her attack no longer held the strength of her conviction.

With a low noise, he pressed her back against the wall and before she could register his intent, his hot breath was mingling with hers and his mouth descended on her lips. Impulsively she clutched at his coat to gain her balance, but it only resulted in her pulling him closer. She heard more than saw one of his hands settle on the wall next to her head as he moved into her space. Some part of her brain catalogued the foreign flavor of his lips while the rest of her nervous system struggled with her fight or flight response. Logical thought finally broke through her shock and she abruptly pushed him away. He went without a fight, stumbling backwards a few steps while she stared up at him, wide eyed and horrified.

“Shit.” He dragged his fingers across his mouth but didn’t make any effort to move or say anything else. Marta remained frozen in place as well, and the air around them was filled with a weird electricity that made her skin crawl and her heart beat unpleasantly fast.

“Shit.” The second muttered curse was so quiet she barely heard it, but it broke whatever horrible spell she had been under.

“Don’t _ever_ do that again.” Her command was accompanied by another hard shove against his shoulder which did nothing more than set her off balance and force her to cover it up by spinning away from him and continuing her progress towards the small study at the top of the stairs. “I don’t trust you.”

“Weird, since you have your back to me.”

She stopped abruptly and turned around. Ransom was staring up at her with a calculated expression and she glared at him. “If you kill me, you don’t get shit, and you know it.”

He licked his lips and then pointed at her as though she’d guessed his biggest secret. “You’re absolutely right.”

With an exaggerated glare designed to cover up her lingering response to the kiss, Marta turned back around and led him up to the small study where the Go board lived. Since neither her sister nor her mother played with her and it was something she’d associated strongly with Harlan, it had never been moved from the small room. It seemed weirdly appropriate that the first person she brought up here was Ransom, almost as though she was forcing penance on him while still honoring Harlan’s affection for his favorite grandson. She pinched the bridge of her nose in an effort to stave off a sudden headache.

“Jesus, Cabrera, did you make this room a fucking mausoleum?”

Marta ignored his coarseness and placed the Go board on the small table that occasionally acted as a foot stool, dusting it off with the edge of her blanket. “I never come up here.”

“There’s only one chair.”

Given that Marta was in it, she smirked at him. “You can sit on the floor.”

He flipped her off but sat down cross-legged opposite her, shrugging out of the long camel coat and pushing up the sleeves on his sweater. She kept her eyes on the board but noticed the movement in the muscles of his forearms anyway, hating herself a little when she realized what she was doing.

“Look at you, all queen of the castle.”

“Yes.” She held out a bag of stones, ignoring the way her hand shook. “And if you’re not careful, it’s off with your head.”

He reached for the bag, running his fingers over hers in the process. “Don’t worry, Cabrera,” he purred. “I’ll be good.”

Marta yanked her hand back at the shock of his touch, irritated with both of them. “I don’t want to play that game, Ransom.”

He gazed up at her with an expression she couldn’t quite place. He was almost smiling but there was still a glint in his blue eyes that felt threatening.

“It’s just Go, Marta.”

“Shut up and play.”

He shrugged and lay a black stone on the board, effectively ending the conversation. Over the course of her visits to him while he was in prison, she’d beaten him more often than she had lost. But she had still occasionally lost. The fact that she was effectively playing him to determine whether she was going to allow him to stay under her roof as part of his parole heightened the stakes enough so that she struggled to find the same relaxed rhythm she usually had while playing. The patterns on the board kept blurring and by the time all the pieces had been used, she was less confident in her victory than usual.

When they tallied up the points, she let out a shuttering breath, the walls of Harlan’s study closing around her.

“You win.”

“Good, I’m _famished_.” He stood, bending over to grab his coat and slinging it across his arm before reaching over and offering her a hand.

She looked at it in confusion before raising her eyes to his face. He quirked a brow at her and she reluctantly took his hand, allowing him to pull her to standing.

“Relax. This’ll be fun.” He winked before walking out the door, going down the stairs with a spring in his step. “Maybe you can teach me how to make tortillas!”

“Fuck you, Ransom!”

He laughed and waved over his shoulder at her, dismissing her curse before disappearing out of her line of sight. She could still hear him whistling as he continued down the stairs. Of course, she had to lose _this_ game of Go. It couldn’t have been like one of the tens of other games they’d played where she’d won, and nothing was at stake. Deciding she should really take something for the headache that had come on suddenly, she made her way down to the second floor where she’d claimed a bedroom to call her own when she’d moved into the house.

Marta took two steps into the large room before she realized she wasn’t alone.

“Get out of here!”

“I like what you’ve done with the place, Cabrera.” He turned around to look at her with a smirk. He was directly in front of the French doors that led out to her private balcony and was standing with his hands in his pockets, casual as could be. “This room was always my favorite. Used to be mine, actually.”

“What?”

“When I worked for my grandfather. Was kind of hoping I could move back in.”

Marta shook her head, horrified. “This is my room. You need to get out.”

“Sure.” He approached her and she watched him stop directly in front of her. “So where _can_ I park? I assume your mother and sister have claimed some territory or other?”

“Yes, _they_ live here.” The look she gave him was probably one of complete disgust, but she didn’t care. “You don’t.”

“Well, I do for now. So, unless you want me to make myself at home here – “

She grabbed his arm and turned, dragging him out of the room and practically shoving him into the hallway. “The room where Linda and Richard used to sleep is still empty.”

“That room is the size of a closet and it’s dark. It’s right under the stairs.”

Marta crossed her arms. “You can sleep downstairs on the couch, then.”

He pursed his lips and glared. “Fine.”

“So, the couch?” She called at his retreating form.

“Very cute, Cabrera.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Twitter [@Mokelly1066](https://twitter.com/mokelly1066) and Tumblr [Graendoll](https://graendoll.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OMG they were roommates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note about TW - there are more explicit mentions of ICE in this chapter.

Marta made quick work of dressing after Ransom left her room, locking the door behind her while she did so in an attempt to create some sort of barrier between herself and the ex con prowling around her house. She also texted Alice to let her know that she and her mother didn’t need to come back to the house tonight. It was a manipulation on her part, knowing her sister would jump at any opportunity to stay in the city and would no doubt be able to convince her mother to remain behind. It gave Marta a few more hours to set some ground rules with her uninvited guest as well as to figure out the best way to get him to _leave_.

When she made her way downstairs, she found him in the kitchen, rummaging through the cupboards. He’d ditched the scarf and the coat, and so the Ransom she encountered was dressed only in another one of his annoying, moth-eaten sweaters and a pair of tweed trousers. This sweater was a pale grey and had a giant hole in the side above his hip.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for food. Do you have any idea what three years on prison cafeteria garbage will make you appreciate?”

“Freedom?” She muttered under her breath.

“Is it just me,” he asked as he straightened and gestured to her with an open pack of crackers, “or did you turn into a total bitch while I was locked up?”

“What would happen to you if I didn’t let you stay here?”

He popped a cracker into his mouth and stared at her while he chewed. “I thought we were friends, Cabrera.”

Marta sucked in a breath. “I – I mean, I don’t – “.

“No need to trip over your denial. This is my only outfit. I’d hate to get vomit all over it.” He tossed the crackers down on the table and pushed past her to the fridge.

He was acting like she’d hurt his feelings or said something wrong. What could he possibly have expected? For her to welcome him into her home? Be excited he was here? He was so easily made petulant, like a small child who didn’t get his way. Ransom had always been spoiled, his reactions sometimes bordering on that of a toddler. He was very clearly acting like that now, but she didn’t need to justify the fact that she didn’t consider him a friend. They _weren’t_ friends, exactly. They just played Go and would talk from time to time. She had seen him maybe thirty times in the last three years, and their visits had always been supervised by an armed guard. Their weekly phone calls had only been going on for the last twelve months. This was the first time she’d been alone with him since he’d tried, and failed, to stab her in the chest. A shiver went over her, and she abruptly turned to face him.

“Ransom.” He straightened at the sharp tone of her voice and looked at her, the glass fridge door propped open behind him. As much as she wanted to scold him, something in his face kept her from pushing the issue, so she changed the subject. “Do you need more clothes?”

He looked down at his chest before meeting her gaze. “I’m used to wearing the same thing every day at this point, but it would be nice to have a change in the event you plan on lying to my face again.”

“I’m sure there’s some at your house?”

He slammed the door to the fridge shut. “Excellent. Let’s take a field trip.”

His hand wrapped around her upper arm and she almost tripped over her feet as he dragged her out of the kitchen. He made his way towards the front door, grabbing her keys from the dish she kept them in and plucking her coat off the hook.

“So glad you don’t drive that piece of shit blue thing anymore. Remember when you tried to outrun the cops in that? Fucking hilarious.”

“Ransom _let go.”_ She jerked her arm of his grip, but he took the opportunity to shove her jacket at her before she could do anything else. The familiar beep of her car unlocking had her chasing after him as he jogged down the stairs on the front porch.

“You had better not steal my car.” She yelled after him as she struggled to find the arm holes in her coat as she followed him down the stairs.

“Not stealing”, he called over his shoulder at her as he made his way across the gravel driveway. “You’re coming with.”

“Then it’s stealing _and_ kidnapping.”

“Stop being such a drama queen, Jesus.” He tossed the keys at her and opened the driver’s door to the SUV. “I need clothes, you have a car, ergo, field trip.”

Marta finally shrugged into her jacket and was about to get into the car when she realized he hadn’t grabbed her purse. “I don’t have my license.”

“So?”

“Where am I from, Ransom? And where do I _sound_ like I’m from?” It took him a minute, but to her surprise he seemed to get her point.

“Shit. Fine, get the ID, I’ll be in the car.”

Marta turned back to the house, muttering under her breath the entire time.

“I should just kick him out and make him go back to prison.” She grabbed her purse and shut the door behind her, checking the lock out of habit. When she got back to the car, Ransom had made himself comfortable, seat back and feet up on the dash, looking all the world like a spoiled man of leisure.

“Get your filthy shoes off my dashboard.”

He turned towards her and with intentional slowness, lowered his feet to the ground before closing his eyes again and leaning against the window.

“Do you remember how to get to my place?”

Marta felt another jolt go through her at the reminder that she had been out to his house before, a long time ago. When she _had_ thought he was her friend. The feelings it evoked were unpleasant and she elected to ignore him instead of cataloguing what that meant, hitting the push start ignition on the car.

“Put on your seat belt.”

“Jesus Christ, are you always like this?”

“I worked a rotation in the emergency room right after I got my nurses license. Trust me, you’d wear yours all the time if you’d seen what I have.”

“She may hate me,” he muttered as he clicked in, “but she doesn’t want my guts all over her upholstery. I’m flattered.”

“I don’t hate you, for god’s sake.”

He lowered his sunglasses and looked over at her in alarm. She glanced at him with raised eyebrows and he watched her for a minute before settling back in his seat and crossing his ankle over his thigh.

“Huh.”

Marta pulled around the driveway and headed off the property towards the two-lane road that led to Ransom’s house. She glanced over at Ransom again, seeing the small blink of his ankle monitor when she did so, ringing alarm bells in her head.

“Is that thing going to go off?”

He glanced at her, then down at the ankle monitor that was exposed due to his pant leg riding up. “I have no idea. Guess we’ll find out.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Live a little, Cabrera.” He crossed his arms over his chest and settled back into the seat. “Besides, it’s an easy out for you if I go back to prison.”

That kept her quiet enough that they didn’t speak again until they arrived at his place. The classic BMW that he drove was under a car cover sitting in the driveway, the canvas fraying in several spots. Marta wondered if anyone had come out to his house while he had been incarcerated or if it had just been left to rot in the dense woods of Massachusetts. The door was locked, and she watched him reach up to the lintel overhead and feel around before retrieving a key which he then used to unlock the door.

She followed him into the house, the stale air a dead giveaway that no one had been inside the place in a few years.

“Home sweet home. Make yourself comfortable, I’ll be back in a minute.” Marta had visions of him escaping through the window or returning with a weapon and elected to disregard his invitation.

“I think I should come with you.”

“Whatever floats your boat.” He tossed his sunglasses on a table and threw his jacket down beside it before making his way towards the staircase at the back of the living room. The house was all glass and metal with an open floor plan, and the wall Marta was facing was floor to ceiling windows looking out into the little wilderness that surrounded the house. It was beautiful, and a part of her felt like she’d be more comfortable in a place like this than the giant eclectic mansion she’d inherited. Ransom led her up the staircase, a lovely black wood and steel construction, into a large open floorplan that was mostly a loft with a single wall and door that she assumed must contain his bedroom.

The grey carpet upstairs muffled the sounds of their footsteps, and Marta found herself wondering what kind of life Ransom had lived before he’d made the choice to cross an uncrossable line and take a life. Or two. She watched him step into his room, taking the opportunity to pull her phone out of her pocket and confirm that she had cell signal just in case she had to call the police.

“Still don’t trust me?”

Startled she looked up to see him in the doorway, hands on either side and leaning towards her with a smug expression on his face.

“Just being cautious.”

“Like you said, if I kill you, I don’t get shit.” He shrugged and pushed himself off the doorframe before retreating into the bedroom. Marta stared at the open doorway for a minute before approaching it. She leaned against the wall directly inside the room and took an inventory of the space. There was a large bed, unmade, that held too many pillows. It was all dark sheets and blankets on a four-post monstrosity. Ransom was currently going through a massive dresser made of the same dark wood as the bed, pulling out various items of clothing and tossing them towards a large duffle on the floor. There was a whole wall dedicated to scarves in a variety of colors and a walk-in closet that took up one entire wall. Marta wandered towards it, fascinated by all the shoes on display.

“Do you have a fetish?” She called over her shoulder as she walked into the open closet, running her hands over all the leather and suede loafers and boots.

“For what?” She stopped and looked up at the jackets and shirts hanging above where she stood. One was bright green and when she touched it, she realized it was velvet.

“Shoes. There has to be a hundred pairs in here.”

“Stop exaggerating. There’re maybe forty.” His voice came from closer and she dropped the sleeve of the jacket before turning to face him.

“It seems like more.”

“You’re telling me you haven’t splurged a few times since inheriting the Thrombey millions?”

She shook her head. “Nothing like this.”

“Shame, you’d look hot as fuck in a Versace.”

“A Ver - what?”

“Come on, I got what I needed. We can come back for more later.”

Marta’s eyes wandered back over his collection of clothes and she shook her head. “I don’t need a four-thousand-dollar dress, Ransom.”

“No one, does, sweetheart. Trust me.”

They made their way back downstairs, him with the duffle slung over his shoulder. The drive through the trees on the two-lane road started off completely uneventful, Ransom staying quiet for the most part and Marta too wrapped up in her own thoughts to attempt any sort of small talk. She was dreading spending the night with him in the house, unable to decide whether she should consider a hotel or an armed guard.

“We should eat. Go out somewhere.”

After the tense silence his pronouncement came as a surprise, startling her out of her musings.

“Why?”

“I’ve always wanted to rob a diner. Why do you think? Christ, Cabrera, I’m hungry.” He leaned forward and started playing with the radio, scrolling through the stations. “Boring, boring, Jesus fuck off, boring.” Marta watched him with an odd combination of amusement and irritation while he tried to find something to listen to.

“Are you buying?”

He leaned back, having settled on some college station that was playing weird neo-punk music.

“What makes you think I have any money?”

“You’re you. Even if you were cut off from the inheritance, I know Harlan gave you a trust. And I know how much was in it because my lawyer was Harlan’s lawyer.”

“What if the state froze my assets?”

“They didn’t.” She kept her eyes on the road but could feel his stare burning a hole in her cheek. “I also know the state releases felons with cash, so at the very least you have fifty dollars to spend.”

“You want me to buy you lunch?”

“It’s literally the least you can do after the attempted murder.” They were both momentarily startled by her flip response.

“Fine. I know a place.”

He directed her to a small café a few miles from where he lived. It was quiet but smelled like fresh coffee and had comfortable booths, reminding her a little of the place where they’d eaten all those years ago when he’d acted like her white knight in the face of his crazed family. The memory soured her mood considerably and she opened the menu with a sigh, busying herself looking at the options.

“My mother and sister are coming back tomorrow.”

“I love family reunions.”

“You need to behave. I won’t have you upsetting my mother, or Alice.”

Ransom yanked the menu out of her hand, his hard glare keeping her from saying anything further. “What makes you think you get to tell me what to do?”

She leaned over the table and grabbed the menu back. “I _won’t_ have you upsetting my mother. Understand? She’s been through enough.”

There was a pause while they locked stares and then he gave a little nod.

“It was Walt’s little shit of a kid, wasn’t it?”

Marta nodded once and returned her attention to the menu. The event Ransom was referring to happened almost nine months ago. Jacob, Walt’s alt-right neo-nazi of a son, had called ICE on her mother. Marta had woken up at three in the morning to a megaphone and a handful of police vehicles. They’d taken both her and her mother in for questioning and while Marta had been released within a few hours, ICE had held her mother for nearly three days while they cleared her documents through USCIS.

Marta had spent most of that time in her lawyer’s office lobbing assault after assault at the immigration offices until they had finally relented and released her mother. It had been terrifying, and she’d told Ransom about it shortly after it had happened when she’d visited him. He’d dismissed it and made a bad joke and she hadn’t brought it up again. He obviously remembered the story, however. Impossibly, she wondered if that’s why he had been so understanding about her needing her ID back at the house. It was a disturbing thought.

Trying to focus on her men, she watched in her peripheral vision as he leaned over the table, looked around them briefly, and then lowered his lashes before speaking.

“I could off him if you want.” Marta froze, the menu sliding down in her slack grip until it hit the table.

“What?” Her shocked whisper resembled a choking noise.

Ransom raised his eyebrows at her momentarily before he leaned back and laughed, pointing a finger at her. “You should see your face.”

“That is _not_ funny.”

“Come on, Cabrera, lighten up.” His laughter tapered off at the look on her face. “Were you always this high strung?”

“He’s your cousin.”

“He’s a fucking nazi.”

“Family is important.”

“Fuck my family.” He hailed the waitress with a snap of his fingers that had Marta offering the woman an apologetic smile when she approached the table to wait on them. When they had finished ordering, he turned his attention back to her.

“So, you still playing doctor?”

“I’m a nurse, Ransom. I don’t play doctor.” He smirked and she colored when she realized, belatedly, the double entendre. “Don’t be gross.”

“Fine, are you still playing nurse?”

“You know what, no matter how you say that it sounds perverted.” The waitress took that moment to return with their drink orders and gave Marta a look, which she tried to ignore. “And no, not for about a year.” That fact that she’d quit working shortly after USCIS had detained her mother for three days wasn’t something she liked to talk about. “I give money to some free clinics around the city. I think Harlan would have liked that.”

“You really believe that, don’t you?”

Marta looked up at him, confused. “Believe what?”

“That my grandfather had anything more up his sleeve than a giant middle finger to his entire bloodline.” Marta opened her mouth, but he cut her off. “He used you to make a point.”

“I don’t believe that.”

He shrugged and plucked the straw out of his glass. “Believe whatever you want, I know I’m right.”

“That’s really sad.” She ignored his expression and continued. “Harlan saw himself in you. He told me that more than once. He wanted you to make something of yourself, like he did.”

Ransom licked his lips and gave her cynical smile. “That worked out great for him, didn’t it?”

“It’s not his fault you have no moral compass.”

“I have one, Cabrera, it just doesn’t point north.”

The waitress kept Marta from having to respond to that by bringing their food. The rest of lunch passed in relative silence, the only conversation between the two of them requests for passing condiments. When they were finished eating, Ransom placed a fifty-dollar bill on the table and walked out without even waiting for her to put on her coat. Annoyed, she grabbed her purse and followed him, wondering how much the lunch actually cost and whether or not the tip he left would make up for the fact that he had treated the waitress like a servant instead of a human being. For some reason, she recalled how he used to make all the help call him Hugh and snorted out a puff of laughter, which caused him to stop and turn towards her.

“Are you going to share with the class?”

“Hugh’s a really stupid name.” She shrugged as she walked past him.

“First of all,” he pointed at her as they got to her car, “up your ass. And second of all, where the hell did that come from?”

“The waitress.” She shrugged as she unlocked the car with beep and opened the driver’s side door. “You treated her like she was the help. I imagined you making her call you ‘Hugh’, and then realized it was a really stupid name.”

She tried to shut the door after she slid into the leather seat, but he grabbed it. “You think I’m an asshole.”

Marta pressed her lips together and tightened her grip on her keys, wondering what his point was. “Yes.”

His eyes narrowed and the corner of his mouth twitched. “You still like talking to me?”

She cleared her throat, debating whether or not she wanted to lose her lunch before responding. “Yes.”

“Good.” He slammed her door shut and she let out a breath before he got into the passenger’s seat.

The drive back to her house was uncomfortably comfortable, their ability to share a space without tension unnerving her, even though she could feel the smugness practically rolling off him. When she parked, he hopped out wordlessly and grabbed his duffle from the back seat before striding towards the house. The dogs came out and immediately swarmed him, barking and blocking his progress until Marta took pity on him and exited the car herself, calling the dogs over to her. He waved over his shoulder and escaped inside while she took a moment to pet the two canines until they rushed off into the wooded area around the driveway.

With a sigh, she entered the house and put her stuff down next to the door.

“Ransom? When my mother and sister come back you have to behave.”

“You got it, babe.” His voice was muffled from the second floor, but she heard his amusement.

“I’m not your ‘babe’.” She muttered under her breath, tempted to go upstairs and give him a piece of her mind. When her phone pinged, she let the comment go, tensing slightly at the text notification when she saw it was from her sister. Luckily when she opened the conversation to read, she was able to breathe a sigh of relief. Alice was texting to confirm that she and her mother would be spending the night in Boston. With that worry eliminated, Marta made the decision to ignore Ransom while he unpacked, electing to spend the rest of the afternoon in the study.

Over the last three years, she had learned that that part of being a wealthy woman involved giving her money away. The lawyer told her from the beginning that it was helpful for tax purposes and Marta, personally, enjoyed knowing she was still making a positive impact on her world, even if she wasn’t working as a nurse regularly anymore. Her license was still current, and she tried to spend time at the local clinic, usually no more than one week a month. But her last real job had been tending to Harlan’s mother Wanetta, who had passed last year.

Blood Like Wine was being run by a senior editor and was doing well even without regular injections of new novels, but it didn’t get much of her attention primarily because she had no knowledge of the publishing industry. Walt had attempted to insert himself back into the business, but Marta had been very firm about keeping him away, citing Harlan’s wishes as her primary reason for continuing to exclude him. The publishing empire probably needed someone with more expertise to run it, but she had never devoted any time or energy into finding someone to lead the company since it still gave her a generous income every quarter.

At this point, the majority of her time was dedicated to managing her donations.

The foundation Marta focused most of her attention on was a nonprofit group that ran several free clinics in the greater Boston area and relied heavily on donations to operate. It served anyone, regardless of their ability to pay. Near and dear to her heart, the clinics provided services for Medicaid patients as well as undocumented individuals. Marta had agreed to host a small fundraiser for it in a little less than a weeks’ time and given how distracted she’d been with Ransom’s pending release and subsequent arrival she was woefully behind schedule.

In an effort to catch up on the planning, she spent the rest of her night organizing and making sure that she had ticked off multiple items on her to do list. She booked the party planner and confirmed the invitation list the week before, but there was still a lot to do. There was going to be a silent auction, which required items for the attendees to bid on. She was still organizing the donations and trying to communicate with the various donors about how and when they would be dropping off the items, if applicable. Some items were harder to deliver materially, like the spa weekend one of the more upscale hotels had offered, and would require a placeholder. Marta herself had committed to including several pieces from Harlan’s own library in the list of items to be auctioned off, mostly first editions from his older novels that he’d kept several copies of. Nothing irreplaceable or overly sentimental.

With her head down over her desk, finishing off her list and debating whether she needed to move and stretch her spine, she failed to notice Ransom’s presence as he leaned against the door frame.

“Writing the next great American novel for Blood Like Wine?”

She startled and dropped the pencil she’d been holding before straightening and pushing the hair out of her face.

“No. Just planning.” Her eyes took him in. She’d never seen him so casual before, feet bare, loose sweatpants made from some sort of tight knit hanging from his hips. He also had on a long open cardigan over a waffle weave undershirt which made him appear half dressed. In addition to all that, his hair was wet. If she didn’t know him better, she’d be in serious trouble. The man was unbearably attractive.

“Planning what? My murder?”

Tearing her thoughts away from alternate timelines where being attracted to him was entirely acceptable, she responded to his snark with some of her own.

“Isn’t that more your style?”

He pressed a hand to his chest. “I’m wounded.”

“What do you want, Ransom?”

With a smirk and a shake of his head he dropped his hand. “Just saying good night, sweetheart.”

She sat up straighter and pressed her lips together with a swallow. “Don’t call me that. Good night.”

With a wink, he turned and left her to her own devices.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marta is faced with having to explain some things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! A couple of things on this chapter:
> 
> There was a reference to "the Brazilian nurse" in Chapter 1 which was a direct reference to the scene in the film where Ransom referred to Marta as such when arguing with Harlan.
> 
> In my head, Marta is not from Brazil. Her family is from El Salvador. I picked this as her country of origin primarily because I didn't want to have her and her family be from anywhere that one of the Thrombey's referenced in the film and I'm familiar with the cuisine. 
> 
> TW: ICE mention again. Also a very brief reference to homophobia.

It took Marta hours to get to sleep that evening, even though she had stayed up after Ransom’s visit in an effort to exhaust herself. Her night was spent clutching her blankets to her chest, staring at the ceiling, mind spinning with all the possible disasters that could come from housing an ex-felon. An ex-felon with whom she had developed an odd sort of friendship, although she resisted admitting it as much as she was able. Exhausted, her mind shifted in and out of consciousness, and against her will she recalled the taste of his lips, a memory which had her tossing and turning and muttering under her breath about her stupidity until an unhealthy three o’clock in the morning, at which time she finally succumbed to her exhaustion.

Unfortunately, falling asleep that late had the decidedly negative consequence of her being awoken by shouting.

Muffled sounds filtered through her slumber, mingling with her dreams. She recognized her mother’s voice but couldn’t quite make out what she was yelling. Alice’s higher tone was intermingled and for a minute while she was still trying to wake up, she thought maybe the two of them were arguing about breakfast. Then she heard a deep male voice in the mix and bolted to a sitting position, suddenly wide awake.

“Oh no.” Marta threw the blankets off and grabbed her robe, pulling it around herself as she ran out into the hallway. She heard her mother scream something in Spanish and picked up her pace.

“What the _shit?_ Cabrera! Get your ass down here!”

“Don’t you talk to my daughter that way, _cabrón_!”

Marta ran down the last flight of stairs and into the entrance way, taking in the scene before her with eyes wide and both hands clutched over her mouth. Her mother had a kitchen knife and Ransom was leaning against the wall with a hand pressed to his abdomen. Alice was restraining her mother, but it didn’t take a genius to see that the older woman had attacked Ransom with the blade she held in her hand.

“ _Mamá_!”

“What is this crazy man doing here, _mija_?”

“You’re the fucking nutjob that just tried to slice me in half.” Ransom pulled his hand away from his abdomen and Marta saw blood on his hand, concern pushing her to move towards him in order to assess the injury. “Your mother is batshit crazy.”

Marta heard her mother cursing and muttering insults under her breath in Spanish but chose to ignore her, focusing her attention on the injured man in front of her.

“Be quiet and let me look at your wound.”

He moved his hand away and exposed a thin red slash that went across the width of his abdomen. There was a clean cut through the waffle shirt she’d seen him in last night, exposing the bloody injury, and a handprint from where he’d smeared the blood.

“Marta, what is he _doing here_?” Her mother’s voice was pleading but Marta didn’t know how to explain Ransom’s presence while also trying to make sure he didn’t need stitches, so she continued to ignore her.

“Alice, take mama to the kitchen and make her some tea. And clean the knife, please.”

“Sure, Marta. Let’s go, mama.”

“Come on”, Marta glanced quickly at her patient. “I have my medical bag in the study.” Ransom just grunted and followed her as she walked to the other room, grabbing her medical bag from where it lived on the shelf. She kept it stocked in the event of the need for basic first aid and said a silent prayer of gratitude that she’d done so.

Bag in hand, she pointed to the nearest chair. “Sit. And pull up your shirt so I can clean the cut.”

He complied, which surprised her since it wasn’t accompanied by any snark, and she busied herself with finding the sterile alcohol swabs and the butterfly bandages instead of looking at his exposed flesh. She was surprised by the dusting of hair across his chest, and even more so by the tattoo on his ribs. Trying to not to think too hard about what she was doing, she knelt in front of him, settling between his spread thighs, and opened one of the alcohol packets. Neither of them spoke while she cleaned the wound, but his muscles contracted under her touch and she tried hard not to think about why that was.

The knife wound wasn’t deep enough to need stitches, but one side was definitely worse than the other and bleeding more, so she pulled a few of the butterfly bandages from the pile she had and worked to unwrap them in order to hold the two sides of the gash together. She was focused entirely on doing just that when he reached out and pushed the hair off her face, tucking it behind her ear.

It was like an electric shock and with a jerk, Marta pulled back. “Don’t.”

He licked his lips and looked away from her, dropping his hand. “I suppose the crazy woman figured it would be poetic justice to stab me.”

Marta tried to ignore his assessment of her mother and leaned back towards him to place the first bandage over the cut. His abs rippled again at her touch and she pulled her bottom lip into her mouth to keep herself from talking and possibly saying something she’d regret. She grabbed another butterfly bandage and pressed it to him, letting her fingers linger on his warm skin before she realized what she was doing and yanked her hand away as though she’d been burned. Risking a glance up at him, she realized he was looking at her intently, blue eyes pinning her in place.

He reached out again, running a finger under the same lock of hair that had fallen into her eyes earlier and pushing it back again.

“Ransom – “, her voice hitched, and she decided silence was the best option.

“Marta.”

There was that same electric discomfort in the air between them now as had been there when she’d slapped him the day before. A heightened awareness that she recognized as attraction and immediately rejected but couldn’t seem to make entirely disappear. 

“I don’t want to play this kind of game.”

“You said that yesterday. What kind of game are you talking about?”

“The one where you trick me into thinking you’re my friend.” She pushed his hand away and stood, collecting the items she’d pulled from her medical bag and stepping out from between his thighs. “I’m going to go explain you to my mother and my sister. And you are going to go upstairs and stay there until I finish.”

He cocked his head and looked up at her with a narrowed gaze, before pulling his shirt down and standing. The movement led him to completely invade her space again, but she held her ground and looked up at him, lips pursed and ready for an argument. Only he didn’t start one. Instead he leaned down and huffed a warm breath against her ear before responding in a low tone.

“You’re the boss.” When he straightened, he gave her a mock salute and left her to her solitude, heart beating so fast she was worried it would leap out of her chest.

Gathering herself she pushed all thoughts of Ransom aside as best she could and joined Alice and her mother in the kitchen.

“Finally, _mamacita_ here is freaking out.”

“Alice.” Marta scolded.

“Don’t ‘Alice’ me. What is dickface doing here?”

Marta’s mother, who had been silent until now, looked up from her tea with an expression that made Marta’s heart twist in her chest. She settled into the chair nearest her mother and placed a hand on her arm.

“Everything is fine, mama. He’s fine, and nothing is going to happen, okay?”

“What is he _doing here_ , mija? In pajamas? On a Sunday morning?”

It was clear what her mother was implying, and Marta felt her heart skip a beat. “It’s not what you think. He’s out of prison. They paroled him. Part of the requirements of his release is that he live here.” She didn’t want to have to explain exactly _why_ he had to live here but couldn’t fathom lying to her mother either, so she elected to leave the rest of the story unsaid. Unfortunately, Alice was having none of it.

“Bullshit.”

“Alice – “

“No, that’s bullshit. You don’t just get paroled into the custody of your _victim_ , Marta. I know you were visiting him, remember?”

Marta swallowed and glanced at the horrified expression on her mother’s face.

“Is this true? Did you see that man in jail?”

“Mama – “

“For two years! She was visiting him for two years.” Alice glared across the table at her, arms crossed over her chest.

“Alice.” Marta pleaded. “I told you it’s not like that.”

“Well it _looks_ like that.”

“ _Mija_.” Marta’s attention was turned to her mother at the stern voice. “You need to explain to me exactly what’s going on. Right now.”

Marta nodded, sparing a glance for her sister who cocked an eyebrow at her, before turning her attention back to her mother.

“I went to visit him a few months after he was sentenced. I – “ she swallowed loudly, “I missed Harlan. And he’d always had a fondness for Ransom and for whatever reason I decided to visit.”

“And then you went back?” Marta just nodded, trying not to read too much into the concern in her mother’s eyes. “How often?”

Shrugging she shook her head. “I don’t know. Every month or two?”

“Marta.” Her mother’s hand covered hers and she squeezed. “Did you sleep with him?”

“No, mama.”

“Tell me why he’s here.”

Not wanting to see the expression on Alice’s face when she explained, Marta looked at her lap. “He told the parole board we were together. So, he was released.”

“Oh my god.”

“Marta – “

They were talking over each other in their haste to explain to her how horrible the situation was and she looked between the two of them for a moment before cracking.

“Please! Let me explain.” She watched her mother and sister share a glance and she felt her face twist up in shame. “I – “ Their attention was focused on her now and she swallowed again. “I know you don’t understand. But Harlan would have wanted him to have a second chance.”

Alice pursed her lips and looked at her with disbelief. “Harlan would have? That’s what you’re going with?”

“Alice – “

“This is bullshit, Marta. You need to get him out of here and stop relying on the wishes of a dead man to justify your weird fucking kink.”

“Alice.” Her mother snapped at her younger sister and Marta felt as though she’d been slapped.

“That’s not – Harlan would – “, Words failed her, and she deflated under her sister’s stare. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Send the asshole back to prison, Marta.”

“What if the asshole doesn’t want to go back to prison?”

All three of them spun around to watch Ransom walk over to the coffee maker, not a care in the world, and brew himself a cup of coffee. He’d changed, fully dressed now in some tapered plaid pants with suede shoes and another sweater, this one a midnight blue with a faux turtleneck collar. He turned around and settled a hard stare on all of them. Alice looked away and began to toy with the centerpiece on the small table while Marta’s mother looked to her.

Feeling like everyone was waiting for her to do something, she stood and walked over to Ransom. “Can you please give us a few more minutes?”

He gestured to her mother with his cup. “Did you call off your dog?”

“Don’t talk about her like that.” She snapped, glaring up at him. He shrugged and took a sip of coffee, his focus remaining on her family. Marta grabbed the sleave of his sweater and tugged, bringing his attention back to her. “I told you to behave.”

“I did. She’s the one that committed misdemeanor assault.”

Marta stepped closer to him and glared up at him while she poked his shoulder with her finger. “No one is calling the police, including you. Understood?”

His gaze dropped down to her, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth while his eyes danced over her face. “Bossy.”

“Ransom.”

“Whatever. I’ll be in my room.” He stepped around her. “This is an awful lot like prison, Cabrera.”

“The food’s better.”

“Remains to be seen.”

Marta turned back to her family, struck by the expressions on their faces. “What?”

Alice just rolled her eyes before standing. “You better keep him on whatever leash you have, got it?”

She flinched at the venom in her sister’s voice but didn’t say anything as the younger woman left. She heard the front door slam followed by the sound of her sister driving off. Rubbing her head, she turned to her mother.

“Mama – “

“Don’t, Marta. I don’t know what is going through your head, but you’ve always been a good girl. So, I’m trusting you.” Her mother’s message was clear, and Marta gave her a hesitant smile. “Now, have you eaten? I can make you breakfast and then you and I, we need to talk I think.”

“Sure.”

She spent nearly an hour in the kitchen with her mother and by the end of their conversation, Marta was even more confused than she had been earlier in the morning. Her mother had asked her some questions, hiding her interrogation behind maternal concern, and Marta answered as best she could. All it had managed to do, however, was expose a glaring mess that Marta didn’t wanted to look at too closely.

With Alice out of the house and her mother in the gardens with the groundskeeper, Marta made her way upstairs, her indecision leaving her lurking in the hallways for several minutes before she fortified her resolve and approached Ransom’s room, knocking hesitantly on the door.

“Enter.”

She rolled her eyes at his curt directive and opened the door. He was reclining on the bed, shoes still on and a book in his hand.

“What are you reading?”

“Without Conscience. It’s about psychopaths.”

“Studying?”

“You’re a fucking riot.” He tossed the book at her, and it landed at her feet with a thunk. “Maybe you should read it. Like a how-to on managing houseguests.”

“Don’t be an asshole.” Stepping around the book, she sat down on the edge of the mattress. “My family really hates you.”

“So does mine.”

“Why are you here, Ransom?” Marta set her hands in her lap to keep herself from picking at the comforter and tried to meet his eyes. He turned towards her and crawled over the bed until he was lying on his side, propped up on his elbow, facing her. She leaned back a little at his proximity but didn’t make any other move to separate from him.

“This is my ancestral family home.”

“Ransom –“

“What the fuck, Cabrera, why do you care?” He rolled over onto his back away from her, and laid his hands on his belly, wincing slightly. “You don’t want me here, so why the hell does it matter?”

“I didn’t – “ Marta snapped her mouth shut when she realized what she’d been about to say. _I didn’t say I didn’t want you here_. “Shit.”

He looked up at her curious. “You were about to say something you didn’t want me to know, weren’t you?”

“No.” She shook her head, but immediately felt her stomach roil. “Shit.”

“Jesus Christ, don’t puke on my bed.”

She covered her mouth with her hand and stood abruptly. Ransom sat up and reached over the other side of the bed, handing her the trash can with a smug expression on his face. She took it and immediately emptied the contents of her stomach into it.

“That’s disgusting.”

“Fuck you.” She swallowed and covered her mouth with one hand, the trash bin in the other.

“How about”, he leaned towards her, “you just stop trying to lie to me.”

“I don’t owe you the truth.”

He shrugged. “It’s your breakfast all over the place, Cabrera.”

She tucked the trash bin behind her. “I don’t know what to do.”

He studied her for a minute, gaze narrowed and lips pulled down into a frown. There wasn’t anything uncomfortable about the silence, but she couldn’t help but think that there should have been. They’d developed an odd sort of intimacy over the last few years and it hadn’t been until very recently, like yesterday, that she’d been made aware of it.

“The first thing you need to do, is stop puking.” She jerked at his command and looked at him with a frown. “Which means stop lying, you idiot.”

“Don’t be an ass.”

“Too late. Second, you need to fucking man up with your family. You fight with me with no fear and I tried to stab you.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

He slid across the bed and swung his legs around so he was sitting on the edge of the mattress where he leaned his elbows on his knees and gazed up at her from under his lashes.

“If I talked to you the way your sister did, you’d tell me to eat shit.”

“She’s my sister. I would never tell her to eat shit.”

“That’s exactly the fucking problem. Maybe you need to tell her to eat shit, shove it up her ass, and leave you the fuck alone.”

Marta let all of that sink in while she held his gaze. “I don’t think so.”

“Then what the fuck, Cabrera? It’s your house, your money, your ex-con.”

She swallowed, something she refused to acknowledge washing over her with his last statement. At the way he just said it, nonchalant as though he hadn't just upended her reality. Instead of looking to closely at that, she simply shrugged. “It’s also my sister. My mother. My family.”

“I can’t help you if you’re going to be a dumbshit.”

“You’re the dumbshit! Don’t call me names.”

“Fine. Sorry, fuck.” He wiped his hand over his face and when he looked back up at her she almost stepped back. His face was hard, and his eyes had a familiar glint to them. “I’m not going back to prison, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep that from happening.”

“Is that a threat? Ransom, did you just threaten me?” He just stared at her and she backed away. “I don’t like you right now.”

“I didn’t think you ever liked me.”

Marta shook her head and backed out of the room. She felt like she couldn’t breath and began to panic as she stepped into the hallway. Shaking, she put the trash bin down and tripped over her feet to run down the hall to her room where she slammed the door, leaning her back against it as she tried to get her breathing under control. She _hated_ him. Without realizing it, she’d started crying and she covered her mouth and nose in an effort to stem the tears. Thank god Alice had left and her mother was with her friend.

How could she have ever thought to befriend him? To reach out and think that because Harlan had held a special place in his heart for his grandson that she should to? She slid down the door and put her head between her legs while she tried to control her breathing. It was impossible for him to stay. It had been less than thirty-six hours and he’d already managed to lob a threat against her family’s safety.

The loud knock on her door startled her.

“Marta.”

“Go away, I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Marta, come on.” He was being petulant again and it infuriated her. With a noise of frustration, she stood and opened the door.

“Are you going to call ICE? Like Walt’s little nazi brat? Or are you going to try to stab Alice while she’s studying? Or poison my coffee?”

His jaw clenched and unclenched while she rattled off the possible ways he could hurt her and the people she loved.

“I don’t want to do any of that.”

“That’s not what it sounded like a minute ago.”

He leaned towards her and she resisted the urge to back away. “I won’t go back to prison. You took my money, and you took my grandfather. I’m not letting you take my freedom a second time.”

“I didn’t take your freedom, you did that. And I definitely didn’t take Harlan from you, Ransom. I told you. Harlan loved you. You were his favorite.” It was his turn to jerk backwards.

“But he picked _you_.”

She shook her head at him. “That’s not my fault. And you can’t do that again. I’ll call the police. You’ll go back to jail. And this time I won’t visit you. Don’t cross another line you can’t come back from, Ransom.”

“Go brush your teeth.” He gave her a look of annoyance and walked away.

* * *

Dinner that evening was perhaps the second most uncomfortable experience of Marta’s life. The first being the hour she spent being interrogated by Benoit Blanc in the study down the hall. Alice still hadn’t returned in time for the meal, instead she’d texted their mother informing her of her decision to stay with friends for a few days. Marta understood her sister's choice, supported it even, but was still annoyed Alice hadn’t reached out directly to her. Her mother made traditional Salvadorean _pupusas_ and vegetables and Ransom had invited himself to join them. The three of them sat at the dining room table instead of in the kitchen, more to keep a distance from one another than anything else, at least as far as Marta could tell. The gas fireplace was on, and the table was set with the good china, but the forced formality just made it more awkward.

Ransom sat at the head of the table, relaxing into the heavy wooden chair. He spent most of the meal swirling a glass of wine in his hand and studying her. She refused to make eye contact with him, instead sharing uncomfortable single sentence exchanges with her mother.

After twenty unbearable minutes where Marta hardly ate a thing and her mother spent half her time clutching a steak knife and staring at the man at the end of the table, the older woman excused herself, leaving Marta once more alone with the man who tried to kill her. After another few minutes of silence, she decided to get up as well and pushed her chair away from the table, the sound of the wooden legs scraping across the floor interrupting the silence.

“Marta.” The way he said her name bordered on the antagonistic, but it kept her from standing up and leaving all the same. He stood instead, grabbing his glass with one hand and the bottle of wine in the other, sitting sideways in the chair next to her before pouring her a glass of the Merlot he’d opened earlier. He set the bottle down and offered her wine. “I come in peace.”

Marta took the glass after a brief hesitation and Ransom leaned against the back of the chair, sipping from his own wine and watching her.

“Stop staring.”

His lips twitched but he didn’t look away. “Whatever your mom made was good.”

“They’re traditional where my family is from. They’re called _pupusas_.”

“The cabbage shit was weird, though.”

Marta huffed an involuntary laugh. “It’s called _curtido_ , it’s a _Salvadore_ _ño_ garnish, and it’s delicious.”

“Hmm.” Ransom drained his wine and poured himself another glass. “Catch up, Cabrera.”

“Are you trying to get me drunk, Ransom?” Suspicious of his motives, she gave him a calculating look, looking for anything underhanded in his expression. He simply gave her a shrug, appearing for all purposes as innocent as a babe.

“It’s been a hell of a day. You need to relax.”

Marta toyed with the stem of her wine glass before picking it up and bringing it to her lips. She held his gaze as she drank, downing the entire glass in several swallows, while she debated her next steps. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she put the glass down on the table.

“Then catch me up.”

He gave her a look, lips pursed in thought before complying with her demand.

“When was the last time you got laid, Cabrera?”

_There it was_ , she thought. If his intent was to shock her, he was going to be disappointed because all she did was frown in thought before taking a drink of wine and answering with the truth.

“I don’t remember.”

He lowered his wine glass mid sip. “You’re kidding.”

Marta took another draw from her wine and shuddered slightly when the alcohol hit her tongue. “I’m not. I had a boyfriend in nursing school, but then I started working for Harlan and my mother and sister were always underfoot so…” She trailed off, then ended her sentence with a shrug.

“Ball park it.”

“Seven years?” She guessed before looking at him.

Ransom choked on his wine, bringing a fisted hand up to his mouth to cover the coughing. Marta knew she was feeling the effects of the alcohol because she started to giggle at his struggles and finished off her second glass. She helped herself to the bottle while Ransom continued to catch his breath beside her and poured herself a third glass of the red liquid. It was reckless, she knew, for reasons both material and otherwise, but she pushed those thoughts aside and shifted in her chair until she was facing Ransom.

“Your turn.”

He gave one final cough before draining his own glass and reaching for the bottle. She watched him dump the rest into his glass and place the empty bottle on the table.

“How long was I in prison?”

Marta did the math in her head quickly. “A few weeks over three years. Around eleven hundred days.”

“Then it’s been eleven hundred and one.” He cocked his head at her and tongued at his teeth with a smirk.

Marta felt something ugly move through her at his confession but drowned it with another swig of wine. “You didn’t, you know”, she made a hand gesture, “in prison?”

“Cabrera, what the shit? No.”

Marta laughed, covering her mouth at the look of horror on his face. “You’re homophobic.”

“I’m not – oh, fuck you.” He stood and walked behind her to grab another bottle of wine off the rack she kept on the sideboard. When he passed behind her a second time, he hip-checked her chair and she struggled to keep the wine in her glass. “Not wanting to take it up the ass in a cell doesn’t make me a homophobe.”

“What _does_ it make you?”

“A top.” He slammed the wine bottle down on the table in front of her and Marta found herself face to waist, his abdomen inches from her nose as he towered over her. She watched from underneath his arms as he manipulated the corkscrew and yanked the cork out of the new bottle of wine with pop. Without prompting, he refilled her glass and then poured himself a fresh one as well, settling back into his chair. If he had managed to close the distance between the two of them slightly, Marta elected not to mention it.

“Where’s your delightful little sister?”

They bumped knees when Marta shifted to lean her elbow on the table. The wine was going to her head and the glow from the fireplace was making the world soft. “She’s staying with a friend.”

“A _boy_ friend?” Marta shrugged and stared into the wine in her glass. “A girlfriend?”

“Why do you care?” Irritated she sat up again and brought her glass to her lips.

“I don’t, just wondering how SJW she’s going. Speaking of, have you heard from Meg?”

Marta shook her head. “After she told everyone about my mother, I stopped talking to her.”

“Good for you.”

“I liked Meg.”

“You like _me_.” He clinked glasses with her. “You’re a fucking horrible judge of character.”

Marta drank more wine, and leaned sideways against the back of her chair, closing her eyes. “I look for the good in people. Meg was always so kind, and she treated me like part of the family. Like a sister.” She took another drink from her glass. “And you, I don’t know what to do with you half the time, Ransom. You’re like a nightmare that I dread every time I go to sleep. But – I still want to know how the dream ends.”

“I think you’re drunk.”

“I _know_ I’m drunk.” She opened her eyes and was caught by the intensity of his blue ones. “I should go to bed.” Marta drained her glass but was stopped from leaving once more by Ransom’s hand on her knee.

“I just opened another bottle. Finish it with me.”

“How are _you_ not drunk?” Ignoring the warmth on her thigh from his hand, she lifted the wine to her lips.

He knocked his knee into hers and began to trace a pattern on her pants. “Who says I’m not?”

She watched his hand trail across the denim, hypnotized by the movement and wondering why she wasn’t making him stop. His plan wasn’t particularly subtle, and she didn’t fail to notice the way he was slowly creeping up her thigh.

“Ransom.”

“Marta.”

“Just because it’s been seven years doesn’t mean this is going to work.”

“You little bitch.” It was said without rancor and he pulled his hand away from her, letting his fingers linger before completely letting go. “I can’t fucking get away with anything.”

“You’d think you would have learned that by now.” She drained the last of her wine and stood, stumbling slightly because of the alcohol and catching herself on Ransom’s shoulders. They locked gazes again and she tensed when the warmth of his hand fell on her hip, fingers tugging on the belt loops of her pants and pulling her closer until she stood in between his legs. He put his wine glass down and his second hand joined the first, spanning her hips but making no other moves to bring her closer.

Marta stared down at his upturned face, pouty lips slightly apart, nostrils flaring and eyes sparkling with whatever cruel mischief always had his baby blues dancing with delight. Her right hand released its grip on his sweater, and she lifted it to run through the hair at his temple, mussing the perfectly coiffed locks. She held his gaze while her fingers traced down the side of his jaw, watching him swallow, strong muscles moving in his throat as she brushed her thumb over his bottom lip.

His grip on her hips tightened, but she stiffened the arm still braced on his shoulder in a silent command which he seemed to understand, resisting the obvious urge to pull her closer. She could feel the dance of muscles under his sweater as he struggled with his warring impulses. Ransom had always been fit, his muscular form hinting at something more than just a spoiled trust fund brat. It was clear that his time spent incarcerated had only added to his bulk. Curious, Marta slid her hand up his shoulder, resting her palm on the place where his sweater met his skin, evoking a shudder from him.

“Marta – “

“Shut up, Ransom.” Brushing her fingers against his mouth again, she continued her exploration of his face, tracing his brows, the furrows of his forehead, then back down to his jaw. She cupped his chin and spread her fingers, brushing his earlobe as she pushed his head back further and leaned over to whisper in his ear. “My money, my house, my ex-con, right?”

“Shit.”

“Right, Ransom?”

“Yes.” His answer came out with a throaty growl, fingers digging into her hips. Marta pressed her forehead to his temple, eyes closed and nose breathing in the combined scent of cologne and soap and Ransom, while she stroked her fingers through his hair. 

“My rules, too. You leave my mother and my sister alone, understand?”

“Cabrera – “, The hand at his neck curled around the front of his throat, fingernails digging into the corded muscles.

“Say it.” Her lips brushed against his temple and she felt his hands twitch, thumbs grazing the skin of her back. “Tell me they’re safe.”

“Fuck.” He licked his lips and swallowed. “Fine. Whatever. They’re safe.”

Marta released her hold on him, running her hand down his throat and over his chest briefly before straightening. There was a different kind of fire in his eyes now, and his thumbs dug into her lower back. Without breaking eye contact, she lay her hands on his wrists and tugged them away from her before she stepped out from between his thighs. Her fingers lingered on his for a moment before she dropped them, watching his hands settle on his knees.

“Good night, Ransom.”

He didn’t say anything in return and so she left him, silent, in the dining room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some basic translations:
> 
> mija = shortened version of mi hija which means my daughter  
> cabrón = motherfucker  
> pupusas = delicious fried pockets of goodness, made from masa and various fillings, like beans, cheese, chicharon, etc
> 
> Follow me on Twitter! [Mokelly1066](https://twitter.com/mokelly1066)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting tense and Marta is struggling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suppose I should tag the TW vomit - sorry it's somewhat belated!
> 
> But yes, there is mention of vomit in this chapter because Marta, well, Marta's body sometimes betrays her.

Marta awoke slightly hung over, the faint cotton mouth making her reach for the water on the table next to her bed. She sat up and emptied the glass, the mild ache in her head making itself known now that she was upright. As she came to full alertness, recalling the events of the night before, the discomfort in her head turned into a steady pounding. The physical symptoms of her overindulgence were nowhere near as uncomfortable as the memory of Ransom’s warm skin under hers.

With an irritated sigh, she threw the blankets off and made her way to the bathroom, taking a long shower and brushing her teeth to get the stale taste of merlot off her breath. Dressing quickly, she opened the door to her room and made her way downstairs.

“Look who’s finally awake.” Marta stopped mid step and blinked at the familiar voice.

“Linda. What are you doing here?”

“Visiting my son.” The older woman crossed her arms over her chest and gave Marta a once-over, her expression one of disapproval. “He’s in the kitchen with your housekeeper.”

“I don’t have a housekeeper.” Her confusion was obvious, but Linda just hummed non-committally. Marta realized the woman was talking about _her mother_ a split second before Ransom wandered into the entryway.

“Cabrera, nice of you to join us.” He handed her a cup of coffee and she took it without thinking, wholly discombobulated. “Linda here was just leaving.”

His mother glared at the two of them before directing her gaze away from Marta. “Don’t be a little shit, Ransom.”

“Too late.” He raised his eyebrows and took a sip from the steaming mug. Marta wrapped her hand around her own cup and watched the exchange between mother and son. She wanted to know how this was going to play out.

“I stopped by your place. You weren’t there.” Linda glanced briefly at Marta before returning her attention to Ransom. “Imagine my surprise when I called the prison and they told me where you were. My son, living with the woman who stole his family fortune.”

Marta’s tongue finally started working.

“I didn’t steal – “

“She didn’t steal shit, _mother_.” Ransom cut her off before she could finish, leaving her gaping like a fish out of water Her surprise tripled when he tucked an arm around her waist. Startled, though she tried hide it by taking a sip of the coffee he’d given her. It was made just the way she like it, surprising her enough that she looked up at him in confusion before turning her attention back to their guest. Linda was giving her a death stare so intense it caused her to straighten her spine.

“What do you want?”

“Well, well." Linda ignored her son's question in favor of glaring at Marta. "So, you’ve gotten your little claws into another Thrombey, is that right?”

“I don’t have claws in anyone.” As soon as she said it, Marta remember the feel of Ransom’s skin under her nails and looked down at her feet to cover up her blush.

“Bullshit. You – “

“Okay, that’s e-fucking-nuff out of you.” Ransom let go of Marta and grabbed her mother by the elbow, leading her towards the drawing room. “Give us a minute, Cabrera.”

Marta watched them disappear, her sleepy brain slow to process everything that had just happened, and debated briefly whether she’d honor Ransom’s request for privacy with his mother or eavesdrop on their conversation. After a moment she decided her hangover necessitated food and pain killers, both of which could be found in the kitchen. With a backward glance in the direction Ransom had escorted his mother, she headed out of the entranceway.

In the three years since Harlan’s death, Linda had been the most persistent Thrombey when it came to her attacks on Marta. She leveraged her significant personal fortune to send litigious action on a fairly regular basis, typically about once every three months. Marta could only assume she had an army of lawyers who were constantly trying to find a loophole in the will or establish some other legal reason for Marta to be deemed unworthy of the windfall. Luckily, Marta had never stepped a foot sideways in her life until the mess with Harlan and the lawyer she inherited from him had done an excellent job of squashing any potential lawsuits. Unfortunately, all that had managed to do was keep Linda’s resentment alive. Marta felt for her, even if she would rather stand in the snow naked than speak with her. Linda’s marriage with Richard had ended shortly after her father’s death, her son was a convicted murderer, and her family legacy had fallen into the hands of someone she’d always seen as beneath her.

It was pitiable. They were all pitiable in their own way, even Ransom. There were some days where she thought he was the most pitiable of all. Marta shook herself from her thoughts as she stepped into the kitchen to see her mother sitting at the table with a cup of coffee and a plate of food.

“Morning, Mama.” Marta leaned over and kissed her mother’s cheek before turning to the fridge and pulling out some yogurt and fruit.

“What did you do to that asshole?”

“What do you mean?” Marta asked, tensing at the question but not turning away from preparing her breakfast.

“Ransom. He was almost polite.”

Marta shrugged as she popped a blueberry into her mouth and carried her plate over to join her mother at the breakfast table. It was too early to contemplate what her mother’s comment meant.

“Did you sleep well, _mija_?”

“Yes, did you?”

Her mother nodded, but there was something in her eyes that made Marta think she was asking a different question.

“There was an open bottle of wine on the table. And two glasses.”

There it was. Marta swallowed the mouthful of fruit she had just eaten. Leave it to Ransom to forget to pick up after himself. Instead of responding, however, she took another gulp of coffee from her mug.

“I have errands.” Her mother stood. “And Alice is going to come by today to pick up some things.”

Marta sat up straighter. “Things?”

“She called this morning. Says she is staying with her friend from school for a few weeks.”

“Is she coming to the fundraiser next weekend?”

“I don’t know, _mija_. You should talk. She’s your sister.”

“Okay, mama.” Her mother kissed her cheek and then left her to her own devices.

* * *

“Are you fucking the nurse, Ransom?”

“Jesus Christ, Linda. Shut the fuck up for once in your life.”

His mother sat primly on the couch across from him while he lounged in the armchair, coffee mug in hand.

“Why are you here?” Her eyes travelled over him, finding him lacking as always, no doubt. “If you need money – “

“I don’t need shit. Which you’d know if you’d ever once come to see me.”

The eyes behind her glasses narrowed. “I didn’t need to see my son, my blood, behind bars.”

“Bullshit. You didn’t come because _you_ didn’t want to be seen entering a correctional facility.” He eyed her as he sipped from his mug, calculating the possible reasons for her suddenly deciding to drop by to check on him. A few ideas occurred to him, but he refused to show his hand until she said something.

“What game are you playing at?” Her hawklike gaze narrowed at him from behind her glasses and he smirked in response, not giving an inch.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Well.” She dismissed him and brushed invisible lint off her hunter green silk pants. “Did you know your little nurse is hosting a fundraiser? Here?”

“Nope.”

“The whole family was invited. Whatever her game is, she won’t win.”

Ransom set his coffee down on the arm of the chair, his elbows falling to his knees. He steepled his fingers together and rested his chin lightly on his thumbs. “Mother. I’m not helping you.”

“Don’t be difficult.”

His eye twitched at her while she continued to stare at him, her hands settling in her lap while the quiet swish of her silk pants when she uncrossed and crossed her legs remained the only sound.

“Where is that housekeeper? I’d kill for a cup of coffee.” She smiled coldly at Ransom and he stiffened, but kept his mouth shut. When he didn’t rise to her challenge after a few minutes, she let out a sigh and stood. She walked past him and patted his shoulder in a mockery of maternal concern.

“Do keep in touch now that you’re out. I know Meg would love to see her favorite cousin.” Ransom didn’t acknowledge her departure, instead remaining seated and deep in thought.

* * *

Marta gave Ransom a wide berth for the rest of the day. His visit with Linda put him in a foul mood and when they’d crossed paths earlier, his face stormy and brows furrowed in thought, he’d pushed past her and stomped up the stairs without saying a word. Preferring to leave him to pout in solitude, she’d spent the rest of the day following up on the planning for the fundraiser, which was scheduled for the following Friday. The party planner she’d hired was due to come by at three in the afternoon, and Marta was not so secretly hoping that Alice would show before then so she could stay and help. Hiring the party planner had been her sister’s suggestion and Marta was counting on her helping with the selections. Unfortunately, at this point she wasn’t convinced Alice would be at all amenable to offering assistance, considering she wasn’t taking Marta’s calls.

After speaking with her mother that morning, Marta tried four times to get her sister on the phone, but each attempt resulted in Alice’s voicemail picking up. Marta had already left two messages and texted several times with no response. She knew her sister was angry, but she was hoping it would pass. It wasn’t until after the third call went to voicemail that it occurred to her that Alice may be holding a grudge. She’d been annoyed ever since learning about Marta’s visits to the prison.

With the headache from her hangover having never really left regardless of how much water she drank and ibuprofen she took, Marta found herself sitting at her desk and rubbing her temples when the sound of a car pulling into the gravel drive broke through her quietude. She stood and glanced out the window to see her sister step out of her vehicle. Wanting to intercept Alice before she could run upstairs and hide in her room, Marta closed her laptop and made her way to the front of the house to greet her.

She opened the door before Alice had a chance to and stood face to face with the annoyed younger woman.

“I’ve been trying to call you all day.”

“Yeah, I saw. Sorry I was busy.” Alice stepped around Marta and started up the stairs.

“Alice, stop, please, I want to talk to you.” Her sister paused on the landing and turned around to look down at Marta, a small frown on her face.

“Is dickface still here?”

“Yes.”

Her sister turned back around and headed up the stairs again. “Then I don’t have anything to say.”

“Shit.” Marta followed her up, jogging to catch up to her. “Alice, stop.”

Her sister huffed and then turned to face her. “What? I need to get some stuff so I can head back into the city.”

“You aren’t going to stay and help with the party planner?”

With a muttered swear, Alice looked down at her feet. “I forgot about that.”

“Please? I really need your help.” Marta bumped her sister’s arm with her shoulder. “You’re the one who’s good at these things. I’d just pick the wrong colors and serve the wrong food and make us all look like idiots.”

Her sister’s lips twitched. “Fine. You clearly need my help. I mean, look at what you’re wearing.”

Marta faked offense with a gasp and looked down at her outfit. “This is all new!”

“Doesn’t mean it’s good, _hermana_. When is the party planner coming?”

“Three. Which is in about thirty minutes.”

“Okay I’ll meet you downstairs. I still need to get some things.” Marta’s smile fell but she nodded. Alice grabbed her hand and squeezed. “I’d be gone this week anyway, okay? I forgot my friend is going out of town for a wedding. She asked me to housesit and I spaced it until she called yesterday while I was driving around.”

“Okay.” She gave Alice a return squeeze before pulling away. “I’m going to go make us some tea. I’ll see you downstairs.”

Her sister stepped into the bedroom she’d claimed and shut the door, leaving Marta alone in the hall. When she turned around Ransom was leaning up against the doorway to his room under the stairs.

“You two make up?”

“For now.”

He made a non-committal noise and looked down at the floor. “Why’d you invite my family to the fundraiser?”

“I don’t – I didn’t. I mean, I guess I did, but the invitation list was handled through the non-profit.” He looked up at her and worked his jaw, probably waiting to see if she was going to puke, but she was being completely honest. “Did Linda – are they coming?”

“Probably.” She watched him run his tongue over his teeth before he straightened. “You should be careful.”

Memories of their conversation yesterday and the ever-present concern that he’d decide to kill them all in their sleep had her stiffening. “What does that mean?”

“My mother.” His tone indicated he had followed her train of thought and was less than pleased with where she’d landed. “She’s a piece of work.”

“I know that already.” Marta shrugged at the questioning look he gave her. “Every few months, she tries to sue me.”

“Huh.”

“Ransom – “, There was a knock on the door, interrupting her and pulling her attention away from the calculating look on his face.

“Shit. She’s early!”

“Who?”

“The party planner. She’s not supposed to be here until three.” Marta rushed past him, ignoring the amused expression on his face, and jogged down the stairs, opening the front door with a smile. The person on her doorstep was a petite young woman, close to Marta’s age, holding a stack of colorful folders and a new iPhone that she was furiously texting on one handed. When the door opened, she looked up at Marta.

“Miss Cabrera, I assume?”

“Yes. And you must be Caitlyn. Please, come in.”

The young woman gave Marta a bright smile and tossed her hair before stepping inside the house. “You have a lovely home Miss Cabrera. Have you lived here long?”

“Not long, no. I was about to make tea, would you like a cup?”

Marta guided the woman into the drawing room, exchanging small talk with her before getting her situated in front of the coffee table so she could spread out her brochures. With the promise of a quick return, Marta left the party planner alone and stepped into the kitchen to put on the kettle. She grabbed a serving tray and pulled down the porcelain tea service she’d seen Fran use on more than one occasion, flinching at the memory of the woman Ransom had killed. She didn’t think about Fran that often; they were not particularly close when she was alive, after all. But she felt a heavy weight settle in her stomach at the thought of her now. She was housing the man responsible for her death, and as she waited for the kettle to boil it took everything in her to avoid falling into a full blown existential crisis. It wasn’t like she didn’t remember the horrible things Ransom had done; how could she when she’d visited him in prison? No, it was more that she worried she’d become too accepting of his crimes. Too complacent.

Her out of character behavior last night had been further evidence of this. She wanted to blame her recklessness on too much wine and loneliness, but she knew that wasn’t all that motivated her to trace the line of his jaw and demand he acknowledge the fact that he was _hers_. She was still struggling to reconcile her feelings and actions with what she knew about who he was as a person. It was almost as if she had reached some sort of moral impasse and no matter where she looked, no matter what decision she might make, she risked losing something. Some part of herself. It was a sobering thought.

The kettle clicked as the water finished boiling and Marta prepared the tea almost mindlessly, still distracted by the direction of her thoughts. She placed the cups and sugar on the tray before picking up the tea service and leaving the kitchen. Hopefully she would be able to ignore all thoughts of Ransom for the remainder of the afternoon.

It was easier said than done. After pouring the tea and making room for Alice on the couch when she joined them a few minutes later, Marta made an effort to focus on the task before her. The discussion with the planner went fairly well, as far as she could tell. Caitlyn asked a number of questions about the guest list, the purpose of the event, food allergies, wine selections. By the end of it all Marta was dizzy with information overload, but Alice seemed to be in her element. She and Caitlyn were going over the final options for the types of glasses they’d be using for the wine and cocktails when Alice’s phone alarm went off.

“Oh, wow. It’s later than I thought.” With an apologetic smile at the party planner, Alice stood. “I have to go. I’m meeting a friend in twenty back in the city.”

“Sure.” Marta looked to Caitlyn. “Let me walk my sister out and then we can discuss payment, okay?”

“Of course, take your time. I’ll start on the orders.”

Marta thanked her before accompanying her sister out to her car. The afternoon had a cool breeze coming off the water near the house and Marta pushed her hair out of her eyes.

“When will you come back?”

Alice threw her bag into the back of the car before facing her sister. “Liz is out of town until a week from today. Her flight arrives sometime Monday morning, so I can come back here Sunday night. And I’ll probably spend Friday night here too because of the fundraiser.”

Marta gave her sister a hug before waving her off and turning back to the house. She was grateful to have made up with Alice. She didn’t enjoy fighting with her family. But, if she were being honest with herself, a part of her was relieved that her sister wasn’t going to be in the house for the next week. Ransom was creating enough of a problem for her as it stood. Marta had no desire to continue to run interference between the two of them.

Although, why she felt the need to run interference between Ransom and anyone was a question she was constantly asking herself. It wasn’t her responsibility to defend him to her family, quite the contrary. She had the strongest justification for not defending him as anyone. Lost in thought, she entered the study to wrap things up with the party planner only to find the object of her ruminations sitting on the couch with Caitlyn, leaning over the coffee table to look down at all the product pamphlets Marta had just spent an hour going through. The party planner lifted her head and Marta couldn’t help but notice the color on her cheeks.

“Miss Cabrera, Ransom here was just looking over the options.”

Marta directed her gaze away from Caitlyn and met the cool expression on Ransom’s face. He’d leaned back against the cushions and thrown his arms over the back of the couch; one ankle crossed over the opposite thigh and was taking up as much space as possible. Caitlyn looked absolutely crowded. It didn’t go unnoticed by Marta that the other woman wasn’t particularly upset by his proximity.

“The cocktail napkins suck, Cabrera.”

“No one asked you.”

The party planner looked between the two of them, seemingly flustered by their hostility, and attempted to dispel the tension. With a nervous smile she gestured to the man seated next to her on the couch. “Ransom was telling me this house belonged to his grandfather?”

Before Marta could respond, Ransom leaned sideways towards Caitlyn, nearly whispering in her ear. “It’s her house. Her money. Her – “, he paused and looked directly at Marta with an expression she couldn’t quite define. “Her party.”

_Your house. Your money. Your ex-con._ She felt a shiver go through her while he continued to hold her gaze.

“Of course.” Caitlyn glanced briefly at him before looking back to Marta. “We won’t change the napkins, then?”

“No.” Marta’s eyes never left Ransom’s. “We won’t.”

“Excellent.” The blond woman fidgeted with the brochures, pulling them into an organized pile while obviously trying to ignore whatever bizarre tension was simmering between Marta and her annoying house guest. Once all her folders were in a neat stack, she gathered them and stood, stepping towards the exit, clearly desperate to leave the now tense atmosphere. “Miss Cabrera, we can just work out the payment later. I’ll email you once I’ve ordered all the supplies?”

Snapping out of her weird staring contest with Ransom, Marta turned towards the woman with an apologetic smile. “Of course, Caitlyn. Let me show you out.”

Marta said her farewells to the party planner and stormed back into the sitting room. Ransom was still lounging on the couch, taking up too much space and looking all the world like a king in his castle.

“Why are you harassing my party planner?”

“She’s adorable.” Marta glared at him, but apparently all it did was goad him into elaborating, voice dripping with condescension. “I was in prison. You’re the only woman my age I’ve talked to in three years.”

“What happened to my money, my house, my - ?” she stopped herself just in time, but his eyes glowed at her unspoken words just the same and he practically purred when he replied.

“Your what?”

“My rules.” It wasn’t a lie, precisely but her stomach rumbled anyway.

“Huh.” It was obvious he knew she was originally going to say something else. Marta wanted to slap the smug expression right off his face. He licked his lips, eyes darting over to where his fingers picked imaginary lint off the back of the velvet couch before standing up and moving towards her. She watched him, suspicious, as he circled her slowly before he stationed himself right behind her. Without moving or looking over her shoulder she knew he was just inches away from her, the heat radiating off him ghosting across her back. When he spoke, his breath hit the nape of her neck and she felt the hairs raise on her arms.

“Do you ever think about it?”

“About what?”

His hand reached around her, cupping her jaw in a surprisingly gentle grip before turning her head towards the display of knives that still acted as the central focus of the room. “About me trying to stab you.”

Her heart skipped a beat resuming its rhythm at a much faster rate than before. She gave a non-committal shrug in an effort to dodge the question, causing him to puff out a short breath of laughter across her cheek.

“I thought about it _constantly_ those first few months. I literally had nothing better to do.” His low voice rumbled in her ear, breath tickling her neck. “I wanted to fucking kill you that afternoon.”

“Let go, Ransom.” Her voice was shaky and held absolutely no authority, but his fingers released the hold on her jaw anyway, his thumb rubbing over her bottom lip softly before he dropped his hand from her entirely. Marta tried to ignore the way her heart beat wildly in her chest, his question forcing her memories back to the day in question. She remembered the feeling of being trapped under him, heavy weight on top of her, face inches from hers, blue eyes staring down at her. She remembered they were full of contempt and she felt herself starting to panic.

“It was stupid as shit. I was actually relieved when you didn’t die.” She spun around to look at him, astounded by his confession and needing to see his face to ascertain whether or not he was lying. He stared down at her, mouth pursed before he spoke again. “I remember looking down at you, your eyes all wide, staring up at me. And the only thing I could think was ‘thank god it was fake'.”

“Why?” Marta’s confusion outweighed her residual fear. “Because it meant less jail time?”

“Nope.” He popped the ‘p' for emphasis and she frowned at him.

“Then _why_? Why are you telling me this?”

“Not sure. But next time?” he stepped towards her, eyes sparkling with some unknown mischief, and she stiffened. “Next time I get you under me - .”

“There’s not going to _be_ a next time, Ransom.” She knew the minute the words spilled from between her lips that her body was going to betray her. He eyed her while she tried to swallow down the bile that threatened to expose her lie.

“You sure about that, Cabrera?” He took a step back before turning and walking out of the room, leaving Marta to vomit into the trashcan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Twitter! [Mokelly1066](https://twitter.com/mokelly1066) and Tumblr [@Graendoll](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/graendoll)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wild parole officer appears, Marta throws a party, and the balance of power takes an interesting turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for posting this chapter so late, I got distracted!
> 
> TW Racism and a note:
> 
> There is a slur in this chapter. It's the most blatant example of the canon-typical racism in the fic, but I want readers to be prepared to encounter it so it doesn't catch anyone off guard. If you're concerned this will be triggering, please read the end notes before starting the chapter so I can direct you to exactly where it is. 
> 
> Translation:
> 
> Jesus y Maria, dios mio = Jesus and Mary, my god.

Marta wondered, after puking in the third trashcan in the house this week, if maybe she should break down and hire a housekeeper. As a nurse, she didn’t have a problem with cleaning up vomit, especially her own, but she felt like all she did anymore was lie, puke, clean and repeat. As she brushed her teeth for the second time that day, she stared at her reflection in the mirror and quietly judged herself while she replayed the conversation that led to her most recent regurgitative response.

The sound of his low voice saying _‘Next time I get you under me’_ kept rolling through her head. She didn’t want to look too closely at the feelings his words evoked, or acknowledge, even to herself, that her mind had carried her down that path already. It hadn’t ever been overt, but there had been times, after going to the prison when she had, perhaps, imagined someone with similar features and weight when she was alone in her bed late at night. It wasn’t like she’d specifically fantasized about _Ransom_ , but there had been enough similarities for her to recognize that her faceless fantasies had been cut from a very similar cloth.

Which is why she knew the minute the denial spilled out across her lips that she wasn’t being entirely honest when she said it would _never_ happen. And the fact that she knew it was a lie, even if it was a lie predicated on a very low probability of certain events occurring, had still forced the bile from her gut. But the worst part was not admitting the truth to herself. No, the absolute worst part was that Ransom was now also privy to the small nugget of truth that she was hiding. He would, without a doubt, become absolutely intolerable. He was too smart, too mercenary, to let something like that go. Her only recourse, then, was to avoid him completely. Which was difficult considering he was under her roof.

She managed to avoid a conversation with him for almost two days.

The morning after the meeting with the party planner she woke up as early as she could manage. It was still dark out when her alarm blared four thirty, but she figured if she could get up, make breakfast and be out of the house before the sun rose, she could successfully put off any further conversation for the day. What she hadn’t planned for was the fact that Ransom was a runner, and when she walked into the kitchen at five fifteen to see him already dressed in his running clothes, she backed away and ran to her car, ignoring the amused laughter that followed her out of the house.

She spent the entire day away, running errands, spending some time at the free clinics, and eventually sitting in a coffee shop for nearly three hours just to have something to do. She was so caffeinated by the time she returned to the house she was grinding her teeth, but Ransom was either not there, a thought which had her panicking, or knew she was avoiding him and was hiding in his room. She wasn’t sure if she was responsible for his whereabouts under the rules of his parole, and the worry that he might have disappeared because she couldn’t face his smug looks combined with the three café lattes she’d consumed while avoiding the house motivated her to knock loudly on his door.

Her relief was palpable when he opened it with an annoyed expression. “What the fuck, Cabrera. Do you know what time it is?”

She didn’t, actually, but a brief glance at the clock near his bed red eleven thirty. “Sorry, I didn’t realize – sorry.” She turned and fled so quickly she missed the look on his face.

The following day she elected not to wake up before dawn, anticipating his morning routine, and instead took her coffee and her breakfast up to Harlan’s study, where she locked the door and read for the majority of the afternoon, only leaving to get food and drink and use the bathroom. She ran into Ransom once in the hall, literally, crashing into his chest as she came down the creaky staircase over his bedroom.

“So that’s where you’ve been hiding.” He nodded upstairs and she flushed, but refused to say anything, pressing her lips together in an effort to keep her mouth shut. He was blocking her progress, hands on the banisters while she was trapped between him and the stairs. If he didn’t move, she’d have to retreat back up to the study and try again later.

“I can hear the staircase squeak, remember?”

“Shit.” She looked at him. “Can you please move.”

“You can’t avoid me forever, you know.” He released his hold on the bannisters and stepped aside, letting her pass.

“I can try.”

He didn’t make another appearance that afternoon, for which she was grateful. By Thursday she was feeling almost like she could make it through the whole week without actually talking to him. She should have known her confidence was misplaced, because at approximately one thirteen that afternoon, Ransom’s parole officer showed up.

Marta went to the door when the bell rang, curious about who might be dropping by unannounced. Dread filled her belly when she realized it might be Linda or another of Ransom’s family come to visit the prodigal son, so when she opened the heavy door and was greeted by a completely unfamiliar face she was immediately relieved. It didn’t last long.

“Miss Marta Cabrera?”

“Yes.”

The portly man in front of her flashed some identification which she recognized as an official badge and her heart jumped into her throat, memories of ICE showing up unannounced flooding her brain.

“I’m Peter Kowalski with the department of Probation and Parole. Is Mr. Hugh Ransom Drysdale at home?”

“Sure. I’ll just go get him.” Marta gestured behind her and then invited the man in. He was older than her, probably pushing fifty, had heavy glasses and wrinkled clothes, but there was a hard glint of intelligence in his eyes and she wondered, briefly, how badly this was going to go.

Marta left Mr. Kowalski standing in the entrance and jogged up the stairs to the second floor where she rapped her knuckles on Ransom’s door. “Ransom? I think your parole officer is here.”

The door opened and Marta got an eyeful of Ransom’s bare chest. “What do you mean my parole officer is here. Now?”

“I – “ she swallowed as her eyes skimmed over his form against her will before meeting his blue gaze. “Yes, Mr. Kowalski. He’s downstairs.”

Ransom turned around and reached for the shirt waiting for him on the bed. She watched him, blatantly staring while he tugged the blue thermal on over his head. The scab across his chest looked like it was healing, at least. Maybe she could convince herself her interest was entirely medical in nature.

“Come on, Cabrera, I bet he’s going to want to talk to you too.”

“Shit.”

Ransom laughed and the two of them made their way downstairs.

“Mr. Hugh Ransom Drysdale?”

“Call me Ransom.”

“Is there somewhere we can talk? I’ll need to speak with you too, Miss Cabrera.”

Ransom bumped her with his shoulder, and she plastered a smile on her face. “Of course. Follow me.”

She led them into the study and took a seat on the couch, not prepared for Ransom to sit flush against her, thigh to thigh, hip to hip, before slinging his arm onto the back of the velvet piece and letting his fingers brush her neck. Disarmed she watched Mr. Kowalski settle into the chair across from them and pull out a notepad.

“Miss Cabrera.”

“Yes?”

“According to the court records, Mr. Drysdale tried to stab you in the presence of multiple witnesses.”

“You really don’t mince words, do you?”

The parole officer looked over the rim of his glasses at Ransom. “Your parole is predicated on the fact that one of your former victims consented to a romantic relationship. It’s my job to not only ascertain whether or not Miss Cabrera is being coerced in any way, but also to make sure you’re sticking to the requirements of your parole. I don’t have time to mince words.”

Ransom levelled a glare at the man, but Marta leaned forward, curious.

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that? Coerced?”

“You failed to attend the parole hearing. Prison records indicated you’d visited Mr. Drysdale on multiple occasions, but the fact that you didn’t testify to the status of your relationship before the parole board seems, if we’re being blunt, suspicious.”

“I see.” She glanced over at Ransom who was still staring daggers at the parole officer. “And what would happen if I were being coerced?”

Ransom’s blue eyes snapped to her face and his frown became absolutely diabolical.

“I’d rather you answer my question first, Miss Cabrera.”

“And what is your question, Mr. Kowalski? I don’t recall you asking one.” She shrugged before leaning back against Ransom, curling into his side without breaking eye contact with the other man. She felt Ransom stiffen under her before he relaxed and dropped his arm to her shoulder, pulling her more tightly against his chest. “I didn’t want to go to the parole hearing, so I didn’t.”

“And you two are living together?” Not wanting to vomit and then have to explain her sudden illness to the stranger in her living room, Marta chose her words carefully.

“Ransom lives here, yes.”

“Are the two of you involved?”

Marta licked her lips prepared to answer, but Ransom beat her to it.

“Yup.” Mr. Kowalski apparently didn’t think that answer was sufficient, so he turned to Marta instead.

“Miss Cabrera?”

“Yes.” Marta nodded for emphasis. “Yes, we are involved.” Marta sat stiffly prepared to swallow back her bile, but it never came. Of course she was _involved_ with Ransom, she couldn’t avoid some sort of entanglement with him living in her house. She wondered how well she’d be able to tell these sort of half truths for the remainder of the interrogation.

“I see. Do you share a room?”

“No. My mother and sister live here and they – “

“Fucking hate me.” Ransom made his vulgar proclamation with a smile and Marta resisted the urge to elbow him in the ribs.

“They aren’t comfortable with my relationship with Ransom.” The truth of her words was undeniable, but she still felt like she was saying something unintended by making that pronouncement. Blinking she set the problem aside for later.

“And are you? Comfortable with your relationship with Mr. Drysdale?”

“Not always.” The honest answer was out of her mouth before she could think better of it.

“What the shit, Marta.” Ransom glared at her, but she ignored him.

“Relationships aren’t always comfortable, and we have a lot of history.”

“I see.” The parole officer glanced between the two of them again, before returning his attention to his notebook. “Has Mr. Drysdale been violent towards you since his release?”

“Wait a goddamned minute – “

“No.” Marta threw caution to the wind and placed a hand on Ransom’s chest, over the healing injury she’d glanced at earlier, effectively stunning him into silence. “No, he hasn’t done anything like that. I feel perfectly safe, Mr. Kowalski.”

“I see.”

Marta gave the parole officer another small smile, trying desperately to ignore the fact that her stomach wasn’t the least bit upset after her last confession. The fact that she recognized it as the truth was nowhere near as alarming as the idea that if she wasn’t careful, Ransom would soon know about _all_ the truths she was trying to keep hidden.

Mr. Kowalski moved on to more mundane questions after that, focusing less on her and more on Ransom. She tried to maintain her relaxed posture, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. Her proximity to Ransom was reminiscent of their ill-advised wine drinking from a few nights before, her awareness of his warmth and the weight of his arm around her shoulders both comforting and horrifying. She was still existing in this liminal space where she wasn’t sure if she was terrified and disgusted by the man, or if she wanted to claim him as her own and force him to offer himself to her in supplication. The unfamiliar desire to possess him and undo him warred with the logical part of her brain that had identified him as a threat and refused to let go of that categorization, even while the darker parts of herself argued for giving in to temptation.

Marta was pulled out of her thoughts after twenty minutes or so when Ransom started arguing with Mr. Kowalski.

“I’ve never worked a goddamned day in my life.”

“It’s a condition of your parole that you secure employment, Mr. Drysdale.”

“Are you fucking shitting me?”

“I’m not. You have to be employed by the end of the month or risk a violation.”

Ransom released the hold he had on her shoulder and leaned forward. “Fuck you.”

“Ransom.” He looked up at her, face pulled into an expression of severe annoyance, but didn’t say anything else. She glanced over at Mr. Kowalski. “He can work for me.”

“What?” Ransom snapped his question, but Marta remained focused on the parole officer.

“In what capacity, Miss Cabrera?”

“My publishing company, Blood Like Wine, needs help. Ransom assisted Harlan from time to time and is more familiar with the business than I am.”

“I see.” The older man pushed his glasses up and considered the two of them. “Since this appears to be the first time Mr. Drysdale has been made aware of such an offer, I recommend we postpone further questions until our next visit.”

Marta risked a glance at Ransom. He was resting his elbow on the arm of the couch and staring at her with the same calculating look she’d seen dozens of times. For some reason this particular version of it compelled her to smile back at him before returning to face Mr. Kowalski.

“Yes, it occurred to me very recently. I’ve been ignoring the company for too long. I’m sure we’ll have more information for you in a few weeks.”

“Very well Miss Cabrera. Mr. Drysdale.” Mr. Kowalski stood, and Marta and Ransom soon followed suit, the three of them making their way towards the front door. “I’ll be returning in a couple of weeks to follow up. Don’t forget your appointment at the office next week, Mr. Drysdale.”

“Piss off.”

“Exactly. Try not to miss the cup.” He nodded to Marta as he left, and Ransom slammed the door behind him, turning to Marta.

“You want to tell me what the fuck just happened?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Bullshit.” He leaned back, his face suddenly morphing into an alarmed expression. “You’re not going to puke all over me again, are you?”

“No.” He cocked his head at her in what could only be described as reticent disbelief. “I feel fine, really. I didn’t lie.” She shrugged and moved towards the stairs, only to have her forward momentum halted when Ransom reached out and grabbed her bicep.

“I’m not working for you.”

“Then you can go back to prison.” Pulling out his grip, she continued up the stairs while he muttered behind her.

“Up your ass.”

“Your choice, Ransom!”

* * *

The day of the fundraiser came sooner than Marta would have liked. Guests were scheduled to arrive at six, and by three o’clock Friday afternoon she was borderline hysterical. Alice was in her room with her, trying to talk her down while they went through Marta’s wardrobe. She hadn’t been lying when she’d told Ransom that she didn’t need a four-thousand-dollar dress, but it wasn’t like she hadn’t made _some_ purchases over the last three years.

“I think you should wear this one.” Alice held up a modest ruffled white gown with embroidered flowers all over the bodice and skirt.

Wrinkling her nose, Marta shook her head while she tried not to imagine how badly the evening was going to go with Ransom and his whole family in attendance. “That dress makes me look like a kitten. I need something that makes me feel like a lioness.”

Alice made a face at her but put the dress back in the closet. Marta approached her and reviewed her options for moment before coming to an abrupt decision. Pointing to the dress she’d chosen, she smiled. “That one.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am dead serious. It’s perfect.”

“It’s your funeral.”

Marta hip checked her sister and spent the next two hours with Alice getting ready for the party. Her mother agreed to oversee the preparations as she refused to attend the actual event, citing social anxiety and an extreme discomfort at having to interact with Walt and his nazi-child for any time at all. Agreeing wholeheartedly while remembering the horrifying experience with ICE, Marta had arranged for a weekend at the spa for her mother. There was a car scheduled to pick her up at five-thirty and sweep her away to a private room for two nights.

Alice was dressed before Marta and was finishing up the last of the curls on her long hair when she saw her sister in the mirror.

“ _Jesus y Maria, dios mio_. Marta you look amazing.”

Marta licked her lips self-consciously, trying not to look down at herself to make sure her dress was still covering everything. “Is my makeup okay?”

Alice stepped towards her and squeezed her shoulders. “It’s perfect.” Her sister looked her up and down one more time. “How are your boobs not falling out of that?”

“There was tape? Someone recommended it.” She twisted side to side to demonstrate to her sister how secure the fabric was. “It feels pretty secure.”

“You’re braver than I am.” Marta got the impression Alice was talking about more than the dress but didn’t press her sister. She could hear the guests arriving downstairs, confident the catering staff she’d hired just for the party were taking care of them with food and drinks, but it was still time to make an appearance and she wanted to join the guests before Linda and the rest of the Thrombey’s arrived.

Alice went first, rushing down the stairs with a youthful sort of lack of self-consciousness, but Marta took a moment to descend, aware of the cut of her dress and the height of her heels as she made her way down the stairs. Several sets of eyes followed her movements, but Marta wasn’t aware of anyone’s stares, concerned more with successfully arriving on the first floor. The doors to the large study were open and the guests were moving through the house, looking at the eclectic décor as well as the silent auction items.

Marta greeted some of the more familiar faces as she moved through the crowd, shaking hands and taking the compliments on her appearance with a fair amount of blushing before she was able to find the woman who ran the non-profit all of this was for. With a hug, she greeted the other nurse, grabbing a flute of champagne from the tray as it passed by, and settled into a conversation.

In hindsight she probably should have taken advantage of the time before Linda and the rest of the Thrombey clan arrived to locate Ransom, but she’d been determined to enjoy the evening as much as possible prior to their arrival. When Linda walked into the room with a dramatic flourish of her silk wrap and stared daggers at Marta, the mood of the entire party shifted. Having spent as much time as she had with Harlan’s family before inheriting his fortune, she’d been privy to the bizarre machinations of the wealthy, but it had always been as an observer. After she inherited the fortune, however, she’d been dragged into the muck, thrust quite suddenly into the role of game piece on a chessboard that she was only vaguely familiar with. Over the last three years she’d become much more adept at playing, but she still found it exhausting and unpleasant. Sadly, Linda seemed to thrive off it, and if her dramatic entrance was any indication, Marta would have to remain on her toes for the rest of the night. In fact, the entire tenor of the gathering changed, going from lighthearted to anticipatory in a heartbeat.

Unwilling to participate in a direct confrontation, Marta removed herself from Linda’s line of sight, exiting the room through the opposite doors and stepping into the alcove. One of the waitstaff working for the catering company walked by and she reached for another flute of champagne, downing nearly half of it in one swallow.

“Fuck, Cabrera, that’s one hell of a dress.”

Marta spun around at the sound of his voice, watching as he stepped out of the shadows. He wasn’t nearly as dressed up as she was, sporting a grey collared sweater over a pair of blue tweed pants. He was carrying a tumbler of whiskey and as he approached her, he finished it off and set it down on the mantle of the fireplace.

“It’s not Versace.”

“Still has quite the V.” He nodded to the neckline of the black gown, which plunged below her sternum, sitting a few inches above her navel. Marta nodded while she sipped at her champagne, ignoring the way his eyes practically devoured her.

“Your family is here.”

“Wonderful.” The tone of voice he used made it clear he thought it was anything but. She watched him watch her, seeing the way he moved closer to her, the way his blue eyes danced over her face. The proximity was going to her head and in an effort to regain some sort of control, she made a declaration.

“You’re going to work for me.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. Because you didn’t like prison.”

He stepped closer, leaning over her until they were almost nose to nose. “I don’t think so.”

She swallowed and tried to focus on his eyes instead of his lips. “Because it’s my house.”

“Your house.” He angled his head when he said it, brushing his nose against hers.

“My rules.”

“Your rules.”

“My – “ he cut her off with a kiss, lips pressed to hers and tongue dipping into her mouth. The lingering flavor of the whiskey he had been drinking hit her tongue as she kissed him back. He stepped her back with a hand on her hip until she hit the wall and he pressed his entire length up against her. The flimsy silk of her dress allowed the heat of his body to radiate through it and she was quickly surrounded by warm, good smelling, male. Marta reached up and grabbed his hair, fingers tangling in the short strands at the nape of his neck before giving them a quick tug. He lifted his mouth from hers and she took him in, pupils wide, mouth swollen, and clean-shaven cheeks flushed. He licked his lips and she felt her thighs clench, a feeling that only intensified when he spoke in a hushed whisper.

“Tell me what to do, miss high and mighty.”

Their eyes met, his blue orbs staring back at her, a question in his gaze. With a wave of confidence that settled at the base of her spine and made her stand up straighter, her answer to the unasked question coalesced and solidified, prompting her to whisper her command.

“Get on your knees.”

He dropped his forehead to hers before complying, pressing his face into the exposed V of her chest, cool hair moving like the silk of her gown across her bare skin as he slid down her front. She kept one hand curled in his cropped hair, the other shakily bringing the champagne flute to her lips to finish off the last of the alcohol and fortify her nerves. When she looked back down at him, he was kneeling at her feet, staring up at her, hands on her hips, an unreadable expression on his shadowed face.

Marta glanced around quickly before handing him the champagne flute, which he took and set on the table behind them without asking, before returning his hand to her hip. He ran his thumbs over her sides, his blue eyes full of mischief as he gazed up at her from under his lashes.

“Are you not wearing panties, Cabrera?”

“Shut up.”

He chuckled and pressed his forehead against her belly briefly before looking back up at her, expression more serious.

“Tell me what to do, Marta.”

* * *

Ransom asked the question with Marta looked down at him, the angle making her lips look even poutier than normal, the dark red lipstick he’d smeared earlier when he’d kissed her accentuating her full lips. There was something about kneeling at her feet, worshipping her from below, that had his cock twitching in his pants as he anticipated being allowed to fall into her the way he’d wanted to for years. It started at the Mafia game, the malicious fascination with her. He found her visceral reaction to lying absolutely pathetic, and his opinion of her as a disposable plaything lasted up until he’d set the trap for her that she had miraculously maneuvered her way out of. It was the first time he realized there was more to her than he’d thought, and when she had started visiting him, all those feelings had grown increasingly complicated until he was torn between wanting to defile her and wanted to throw himself at the mercy of her light.

“Lift my dress.” Her quiet command pulled him back to the moment and he licked his lips before complying.

Slowly, he pushed the silk fabric up her thighs, enjoying the way it slid against her bare skin, taking in the exposed flesh as he tugged the skirt of her black slip dress higher and higher. When it was up around her hips, he slid his hands across the skin of her thighs, finding immense satisfaction in the way her flesh pebbled with goose bumps under the path of his palms.

When he finally had the dress up around her waist, he licked his lips, presented with a simple pair of black lace panties. He leaned towards her only to have his head pulled back by a sharp tug on his hair. When he met her gaze, she pulled her skirt from his hand, holding the rumbled black fabric against the warm flesh of her belly.

“Put your hands on my hips.”

He complied, placing his thumbs so that he could brush against the edge of the black lace. She lifted a leg and flung it over his shoulder, digging the heel of her shoe into his back and pressing him closer.

“Ransom, hurry.”

He didn’t need any further prompting, sliding his thumbs down until they met over the black fabric, brushing against the plump lips of her cunt. He slipped one thumb underneath the lace and tugged it to the side, exposing her to his gaze, while he slid the other over her slit, pressing in between her folds to feel the moist heat of her core, brushing up against her clit and pulling a soft gasp out of her.

“Shit.”

He leaned forward and let his tongue sneak out to taste her while he spread her open with his thumb and index finger. The grip on his hair tightened and he wrapped the lace panties around his free hand before giving a hard tug, ripping them off her and tossing them on the table where he’d put the champagne glass.

She yanked his hair back again and slapped him across the face, hard enough to sting. He wondered how long she’d been holding that in. With the taste of blood on his tongue, he brushed the corner of his mouth with his thumb before looking up at her, fire in his eyes. Her lips were pressed together, eyes wide, and she stroked her hand over the back of his head in an apology.

“Don’t tear my clothes.”

He didn’t say a word, instead holding her gaze while he slowly slid a finger into her welcoming heat, watching her face as her lips parted and her eyelids fluttered closed. With lazy circles, he pressed his thumb to her clit, slowly pumping a finger in and out of her while he watched her expression of pleasure transform her features. She reached down for the hand still pressed into her hip and laced her shaky fingers through his larger ones, squeezing as he worked her pussy. He leaned into her again, sucking her clit into his mouth as he pressed another finger inside her.

“God, Ransom.”

The sound of his name on her lips had his erection straining against the fabric of his tweed pants and he shifted on his knees to get closer to her, pressing their intertwined hands against her upper thigh. The edge of her skirt fell against his head and he inched their joined hands up her naked flesh until he’d pushed the silk away from them, not wanting anything between him and her delicious cunt. She began to pant, making tiny mewling sounds each time he pumped into her. He pulled his mouth off her and pressed his fingers in her as deeply as they could go, stroking her inner walls while he used his thumb to keep her on edge.

God, he wanted to push inside her so deep she’d never get him out, wanted to burrow into her goodness until she became a shield between his rotten self and the world. He wanted to wallow in her until she couldn’t get rid of him. Wanted to insert himself into her life, her body, her soul.

“Fuck, Marta.” He leaned back into her, pulling his fingers away so he could spread her open for him. He lapped at her with his tongue while he pinched at her clit, flicking and pressing and rubbing at her with his thumb while he pressed inside of her, nose full of her scent.

By now both oh her hands were in his hair, pressing him to her, the leg that she’d wrapped around him earlier clutching him with astounding strength, pinning him against her as he worshipped at her alter.

“God, Ransom, I’m almost coming.”

He latched onto her clit with his lips, moving his two fingers into her roughly, stroking against her inner walls with a curl on each egress. Her breath turned into whines and with a jerk she came, pulsing around his fingers, wetness dripping from her onto his tongue as he lapped it up. He could feel the muscles in her legs shaking and he pressed his hand firmly to her waist to keep her upright. Ransom gave her one last lick before looking up at her, fingers still buried deep inside her channel as he pet her walls, stroking her like a cat as she came down from her high.

Her fingers carded through his hair several times and she licked her lips as she looked down at him. There was a sheen of sweat on her upper lip and all he could think about was licking it off her.

“Get up.”

With his hand pressed against the wall, he raised up off his knees, stubbornly keeping his other hand in her cunt, palm pressed over her mound and fingers buried inside her. She made a few noises as his movements shifted against her delicate flesh but didn’t tell him to remove his hand. When he was back on his feet, bent slightly because of his anchor in her body, he curled his fingers, stroking her inner wall while he stared down at her, watching her twitch with his touch. She let him continue for a few moments before she reached down and grabbed his wrist.

“Stop now."

He pulled his hand away, brushing against her clit and the soft down of her hair before removing his fingers entirely, letting her dress fall back down over her legs with a soft hiss. Unable to help himself, he placed his hand on the wall near hear head and leaned into her, pressing his face into the hollow where her neck and shoulder met, brushing his nose against her cheek. Instead of pushing him away, like he expected, she curled her arm around him and ran her nails through the hair at his neckline, pulling shivers from him as he settled against her, trapping her hips between his and the wall, his half hard cock rubbing against her thigh.

“You can be good for me, can’t you, Ransom?” Marta whispered in his hear, brushing her lips against the cool skin of his ear.

He lifted his head and looked down at her. “I’m capable of pretty much anything.”

“You're going to work for me.”

He lowered his head again and she felt a puff of breath on her neck as he huffed out a laugh. She stroked her hand through his hair, turning her face towards him to continue her list of demands when they were interrupted by the outraged sound of Linda's voice.

“What the hell are you doing, you horrible little slut?”

Marta's head jerked at the intrusion, and Ransom straightened, looking down at her briefly before turning to face his mother. Marta didn’t fail to notice the look on his face, absolutely wrecked and eyes full of some intense emotion she hadn’t seen enough of to identify, before a mask fell and he met his mother's glare with his more familiar arrogance.

“Jesus Christ, Linda.” He stepped away from Marta and she watched as he casually grabbed her ruined panties and shoved them into the pocket of his pants before trying to circumvent his mother.

“Don’t be difficult.” Linda stepped in front of him to halt is progress and let her gaze trail over Marta briefly before turning back to her son, opening her arms in a false welcome. “Come on, Walt and his family are here, and they want to catch up.”

“Walt can go fuck himself.” Ransom pushed his mother’s arm aside before leaving the alcove and heading out towards the location of the party.

“You were always such a sweet girl,” Linda narrowed her gaze as she spoke, “but you’ve really turned in to quite the bitch.”

Marta stepped forward and picked up the empty champagne glass before tipping it in Linda’s direction in a mockery of a toast. “Takes one to know one, I guess.”

She heard Linda’s gasp as she stepped around her, following Ransom to the party. Apparently her orgasm had made her bold.

When she stepped into the room, she had a brief moment of panic as she came back to her senses, aware that her slip dress was now literally the only piece of clothing she was wearing and that currently the man who’d tried to kill her three years ago was walking through the crowd with her panties in his tweed slacks. The memory of his hands and mouth on her brought a flush to her cheeks and she traded in her empty champagne glass for a full one. As she scanned the crowd, she found Walt and his family in the corner, accompanied by a young woman Marta didn’t recognize. It took her a moment to realize that she was Jacob’s girlfriend.

“I can’t believe the little nazi has a girlfriend.” Marta muttered it under her breath and didn’t expect a response so when one came, she startled.

“Me either. And I’m still single. What kind of world is this?” Alice had slipped next to her and Marta smiled at her sibling before turning back to watch the party goers. “Where did you go?”

“Go?” Marta almost choked on her drink at Alice’s question. “Nowhere. I was just in another room, talking to, um, the staff.” Technically Ransom worked for her so she managed to keep the nausea at bay. “Why?”

“I figured you’d want to know the nazi was here.”

“Yeah, I heard. Thanks.”

Alice hummed and stood with her quietly for a few minutes until she swore under her breath.

“Marta? What is Ransom doing here?”

“Alice, he lives here.” The look her sister gave her could level a building, but Marta wouldn’t be deterred. “He’s on parole. He has an ankle bracelet.” Alice raised her eyebrows at that, and Marta realized her sister was making some assumptions about her relationship with Ransom that twenty minutes ago would have been inaccurate, but now were so very recently a matter of fact. There was no way for her to hide her regurgitative response if asked directly, so it was imperative that she change the subject.

“Don’t you think having a convicted felon at a fund raiser might impact the funds you’re trying to raise?”

Marta shrugged. “Contrary to his belief, the world does not revolve around Ransom. Most people have no idea who he is, Alice.”

Her sister looked at her and shook her head. “What, exactly, is with going on between you two, Marta?”

“I – “

Her response to her sister’s direct question was, blessedly, interrupted by the sound of Walt’s voice raising above the music and low discussions of the rest of the crowd.

“Don’t you lay a hand on my son, you worthless piece of shit.”

Walt shoved Ransom, causing him to stumble backwards with a disbelieving laugh. Marta stepped forward to intervene, but Alice caught her by the arm.

“Seriously, Marta?”

She gave her sister a pleading look before pulling herself out of her grip, and continued through the crowd towards the altercation, which was now becoming the center of everyone’s attention.

“Your son’s a goddamned deviant shit-stain, Walt.”

“You’re one to talk you fucking psychopath.” Walt shoved Ransom again. “Who invited you, anyway?”

Marta watched Ransom’s expression morph into annoyance and rushed the last few feet to step between them. “Walt.” Marta shook her head and gave him a small smile.

“Marta. Good to see you.” Walt brushed his hair back off his face, toyed with his goatee briefly and stepped back. “Apologies, that was – I shouldn’t have –. Ransom and I were just talking.”

“Sure. Of course. Is your wife here? Do you need a drink?” She felt Ransom behind her, the soft wool of his sweater’s cuff brushing across her back as he ran a finger over her spine. It was almost like he was trying to show support and a part of her brain short circuited.

“Yes. She’s around somewhere. Loves what you’ve done with the house, by the way. Wanted me to tell you – “

“Jesus, Walt.” The mocking tone came from over her shoulder and she watched Walt’s glare intensify. “Could your nose be any further up her ass?”

“Ransom.” Her voice was low in warning and she heard him shift behind her before turning her attention back to his uncle. “What did she want you to tell me, Walt?”

“Huh? Oh, right.” He smiled awkwardly. “She just wanted me to tell you the caterer is excellent. Anyway, I’ve been meaning to ask you, actually, Marta, if you needed any help with the publishing company. You know, I had a lot of ideas when Harlan – “ his eyes darted to Ransom’s briefly and he redirected his speech back to her. “I have some ideas.”

“Sure, we can talk. Of course. Give me just a minute?”

“Of course, Marta.” He backed away with a fake smile and Marta took a moment to smile at her guests before turning back to Ransom.

“What the fuck, Ransom?”

He ran his tongue over his teeth as he looked down at her. “I’d tell you not to get your panties in a twist but…”

“Try not to be an asshole. What did you say to Walt?”

“I didn’t say a damn thing to Walt. I did lay into his little neo-prick spawn when I heard him talking to his girlfriend about how the ‘fucking wetbacks’ stole his family inheritance.”

Marta swallowed, looking around briefly. The ugly language didn’t surprise her given that it was coming from Jacob, but she didn’t like how easily it slipped out of Ransom’s mouth. “Don’t say that again.”

He frowned and his eyes rolled almost imperceptibly, whether it was because he was dismissing her request or that he couldn't believe she thought he'd utter that phrase again she didn't know. Either way he gave her a nod and she chose to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Can I leave you alone for like ten minutes or do I need to send you to your room?”

“I’ll be good, Cabrera, I promise.” His voice was low when he said it and she felt a little thrill go up her spine _._

Marta gave him a once over and hummed in agreement, cocking a brow at him before turning away and walking to where Walt stood with his high-strung wife who was clutching the champagne flute with both hands, knuckles white, looking all the world like a woman on her way to her execution.

“Walt, thank you for waiting. I’m so sorry about that.”

“Sure, Marta. I understand. I’d heard he was here. Should have kept him locked in the attic.”

She simply smiled, knowing it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You wanted to tell me about some ideas you’d had for Blood Like Wine?”

“Yes, right. Granddad was such a luddite.” He caught himself when she raised a brow and regrouped. “I miss the old man so much. Harlan was brilliant, obviously.” A hand lifted to toy with his beard, his discomfort strong enough so that Marta felt a wave of compassion wash over her. Walt was, perhaps, the most pathetic of all of Harlan’s family. “Anyway, we had talked about taking things digital. E-books and selling the rights to his stories to go across media.”

“Yes, sure. Harlan had mentioned your ideas to me before.”

“Oh.” It was clear he had no idea what to do with that information. “If you need help at the publishing company – “

“I actually just hired someone.”

“Oh.” For the second time in as many seconds, Walt was completely flummoxed. “Did you - I mean, was it – “ He forced out an uncomfortable laugh. “Well, it’s your company.”

“Yes. Yes, it is.” Marta tried not to feel smug while she watched Walt process their conversation. “It was good to see you, Walt. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

Marta returned to her hostess duties, not missing the way that Walt and Linda converged after her conversation with him. She suspected they were discussing her announcement that she’d hired on someone to work for Blood Like Wine and briefly wondering if maybe she should have kept that bit of information to herself for the time being.

The rest of the party continued without further incident. Ransom had disappeared shortly after his promise to her to behave, and Alice had helped her with the silent auction, providing moral support through the thank you speech Marta had prepared. Marta hated public speaking and felt her voice falter on more than one occasion, but the president of the non-profit gave her a tearful thanks and a heartfelt hug when she was finished, which made all of it worth it. Ransom hadn’t made another appearance after his confrontation with his family, and Alice had perked up after scanning the room for him on several occasions and not seeing, as she said, ‘his stupid white boy face’.

By the time all the guests were gone, and the caterers had packed everything up and departed, it was almost midnight. Alice and Marta were in the kitchen, sitting at the table and recovering from the party. Marta had slipped her three – inch Louboutin stilettos off as soon as the last guest departed and was currently drinking a cup of tea while Alice sat across from her picking apart a remaining plate of canape’s.

“Are you fucking him, Marta?”

She choked on her tea, narrowly missing getting the hot liquid on her dress. “What?”

“Don’t do that, please? Just – “, Alice pushed the plate of food aside and brushed her hands together to rid them of remaining crumbs before resting her head in one of them and looking earnestly at her sister. “I’m trying to understand.”

Marta pressed her lips together and put the tea down before dragging her fingernail across the smooth wood. She didn’t know how she could explain it to her sister when she still didn’t fully understand what, exactly, was happening between her and Ransom.

“If I told you we’d become friends, would you hate me?”

“No, but I’d want to know how.”

“I guess it snuck up on me.”

“Is that why you’re helping him?”

“Yes, that’s part of it. I truly believe Harlan would have wanted him to – I don’t know – grow up? Mature? Not be such an asshole?”

Alice snorted out a cynical puff of laughter. “Harlan would have been horrified by what he did, and you know it.” Marta opened her mouth to argue but Alice was relentless. “He killed Harlan, or at the very least took action that led directly to his death. _How_ do you not see this?”

Marta looked down at her lap, at the deep V of her dress and the knowledge that she’d lost her panties to the man they were discussing a few hours earlier while she’d forced him onto his knees in front of her. The memory filled her with a deeply uncomfortable feeling of shame. The first tear slid down her cheek, and she quickly brushed it aside, hoping to hide her movement from Alice.

“Marta?” Alice looked somewhere between horrified and conciliatory. “Are you crying?”

“I can’t talk about this right now.” Another tear fell and Marta pressed her hands to her cheeks, her shoes forgotten on the floor. “I need to sleep.” She stood abruptly, pushing against the table hard enough to make her tea slosh in its cup.

“Marta – “, Alice started, but Marta waved her off and practically ran from the kitchen.

She made her way upstairs, the tears flowing freely now, and rushed to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her and leaning against it, both hands over her mouth. She was so focused on the horrifying realization that this whole time she’d been using Harlan’s love for his grandson as an excuse to befriend Ransom, that she failed to notice that the object of her distress was leaning casually against the French doors leading to her private balcony.

“Jesus, Cabrera, what the shit?”

Startled, Marta swung around to face the voice, nearly stumbling. One hand was still over her face but the other reached out to keep him away from her when he took a few steps towards her. He stopped with a frown before reaching into his pocket and pulling her ruined underwear out of it, holding the black lace on a single finger. The reminder ripped another sob out of her, and she made her way to the bed, sitting down hard on the edge of the mattress. She could feel Ransom’s eyes on her, and she turned to face him, not caring whether or not her tears had made a mess of her mascara.

“Just get out.” His hesitation forced her words to come out even harsher. “I said get out! I can’t look at you right now.”

“Up your ass, Marta.” He tossed the handful of ruined black lace at her and stomped across the room towards the door. She watched him rip it open and slam it behind him, leaving her to drown in her confused and contradictory emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW Racism:
> 
> During the fund raiser, Walt and Ransom exchange words, forcing Marta to intervene. When she separates the two men, she demands Ransom tell her what he said to Walt to cause the argument. Ransom then goes on to explain that he said nothing to Walt, but in fact overheard Jacob use a slur when referring to Marta and her family. Ransom repeats the expression, upsetting Marta and causing her to demand he never say it again. I'm not sure if I should include it here or not.
> 
> If you want to skip it entirely, I would stop reading after the conversation between Alice and Marta about the arrival of Jacob and pick the fic back up after the party. You can search for "Louboutin stilettos" and start reading there, when Marta and Alice are in the kitchen post fundraiser.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marta gives in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to say here...enjoy.

Alice’s comment about what Harlan would have thought of his grandson if he’d been alive to see what Ransom had done cut deep. Marta had spent the last two and a half years justifying her bizarre friendship with Ransom by telling herself it was something that Harlan would have approved of, possibly even encouraged. But Alice had managed to blow a giant hole in her logic with a single comment, forcing Marta to set aside her confident self-assurances that her friend would have condoned her behavior. The realization that she could no longer use Harlan as a convenient excuse for whatever she was doing, god whatever she _wanted_ to do, with Ransom was a blow she wasn’t expecting.

Feeling like she was about to crawl out of her skin, she stood, pacing her room, until she heard the distinct sound of the front door slamming. Running over to the balcony, she watched in horror as Ransom unlocked her car with a muffled beep. He was clearly intending to leave, and she had no idea where he was going or what he would be doing when he got there. Without thinking about _why,_ whether it was because of his parole or some darker, more personal motive, she knew she couldn’t allow him to leave.

“Ransom!”

He glanced up at her briefly, his expression unreadable in the dark, before yanking the door to her SUV open and sliding into the driver’s seat.

“Fuck.” She ran out of the room and down the stairs, her dress pulling at her hips. When she got to the front door she yanked it open, not bothering to close it behind her, and ran down the stoop and across the gravel, ignoring the way it cut into her bare feet, to stand directly in front of the beams of the headlights.

Panting, she raised a hand to block the light, squinting into the interior of the car. She couldn’t see more than his silhouette until he leaned out the window and gestured at her.

“Get the hell out my way, you lunatic.”

She shook her head, shivering in the cool night air. He smacked the side of the car door, muttering a bizarrely creative series of expletives and cut the ignition before getting out. He strode over to her, the crunch of his shoes on the gravel the only noise in the cool night. By the time he reached her she was shivering so hard her lip was trembling.

“You want to die of pneumonia?” She watched as he angrily shrugged out of the camel jacket he never seemed to be without, and draped it over her shoulders, tugging at it with exaggerated annoyance. She could tell, even underneath all his petulant drama, that he was relieved she’d gone after him and she didn’t know where to put that, other than to shove it into the corner next to her own relief that she’d gotten to him in time. The corner of her brain that was relegated to uncomfortable thoughts about Ransom was growing at an alarming rate.

Gazing up at him, backlit by the headlights, she elected to ignore the emotional reasons for her chase and focus instead on the practical.

“My rules mean you can’t steal my car.”

“Fuck your rules.” He turned to leave, but Marta’s arm shot out and grabbed a fistful of his sweater, pulling at the knit in a way that promised to misshape the garment if he fought her.

“No.”

They locked gazes, his blue eyes perpetually coldly calculating with a hint of something she dared not guess at. Her own expression was purposely blank, the effort of remaining still taking up almost as much of her attention as the decision that was slowly being made in her subconscious. She could feel it, bubbling up as they stared at each other until it oozed out into the front of her mind, forcing her breath to hitch. He recognized some change in her demeanor and smoothed out the collar of the coat he’d draped over her shivering form, his gaze narrowing as his eyes moved down her from head to toe. Marta raised an eyebrow at him in turn, watching the muscles in his jaw work while he considered her.

“Shit.”

She held the lapels of the coat together with one hand and released the fistful of sweater to slide her hand down his arm, offering it to him to grasp. He stared down at it for a minute before wrapping her hand in his, threading their fingers together. To the casual observer it would look like any couple returning to the house, but for Marta? It was a moment more intense than it appeared, as though by linking fingers she’d made a choice that she would never be able to come back from.

Oddly calm, she led him back to the house, closing the door behind them before releasing his hand. When she turned to face him she gave herself one last opportunity to make a better choice, weighing the options in her head; calculating how much champagne she’d had, recalling Alice’s words of condemnation, and finally remembering what he felt like pressed against her, soft and compliant.

“Take off my coat.” He glared down at her but did as she asked, pushing the brown wool off her shoulders and catching it behind her, sweeping it around and tossing it on the bench near the front door. His eyes darted over her before coming back up to meet her gaze, and she took his hand again before leading him upstairs, holding her dress up with her free hand, hyperaware of his eyes on her hips.

Her heart was beating nearly out of her chest at the thought of what she was about to do, anticipation warring with a general sense that she might be making a horrible mistake. But he wasn’t the only one of the two of them that felt relief at her decision to put a halt to his dramatic departure. Somewhere between kicking him out of her room and stepping into the path of her own SUV, she’d already made the decision, even if she hadn’t been aware of it. Like jumping into the water without truly knowing the temperature or the depth. And now, as she opened the door to her room and pulled his large, petulant, murderous form into her space, she wondered if she would ever be the same.

“Sit on the bed and take off your shoes.”

“Cabrera – “

She placed a finger over his lips, silencing him instantly. “Do it.”

His blues eyes ignited at her touch, and she let her finger linger over his full bottom lip before dropping her hand. “Go. And take off your sweater.”

He complied, pulling the grey sweater off as he walked over the to bed, tossing it into the chair in the corner of the room. Once seated, he removed his shoes, crossing one foot over to rest on his knee with each one. Marta watched him move, enjoying the way his muscles rolled under his skin, the small twitches of his forearms as he unlaced the suede boots he had on, the ankle bracelet blinking in the soft light. She locked the bedroom door and moved towards him until she was standing directly in front of him. He dropped his shoes on the floor and looked up at her, elbows on his knees, bare chest dusted in hair that formed a perfect pattern over his muscular form.

“Lie back.” She leaned over and turned on the lamp near the bed, before turning her back on him to cut off the overhead light. When she turned back around, he was lounging comfortably on her quilt, hands behind his head and legs crossed at the ankles.

Swallowing at the sight of him, she made her way to the bed, lifting her skirt up so she could kneel on the mattress. His eyes watched her intently as she straddled him, inching her way up him on her knees until she could settle herself right over his waist. She dropped her skirt and situated herself so that her naked core was directly on top of the ridge of his fly. The hardness underneath her made her smile, and she adjusted her hips slightly, pulling a hiss out of him as she did so.

He unwrapped his arms from behind his head and moved to grab her knees.

“Did I say you could touch me?”

His hands hovered over her bare skin for a moment while he gazed at her, expression mostly blank, before they fell back onto his abdomen. “Stop enjoying this so much.”

Marta leaned over, putting her hands on the pillow next to his head, her hair falling around them both. The anticipation in his expression only grew while she perused his features, filling her with a sort of reckless courage.

“Bad boys get punished, Ransom. Do you want to be punished?” Marta ghosted her lips over his, acutely aware of his erection pressing into her through his trousers. She could feel him twitching under her, his fingers reaching up to run lightly over her dress at the point where her belly was pressing them between their two bodies.

“You can do whatever you want to me, Marta. Just let me inside you.” His whispered demand carried a double meaning and they both knew it, evidenced by the smug smile that played on his lips before he raised his head to press his mouth to hers. She let him, once again finding the flavor of his tongue intoxicating, and as the kiss went on she toyed with him, backing away occasionally, letting her breath linger on his lips as she tasted him. At one point she pulled his full bottom lip into her mouth and he groaned, pushing his hips up into hers. She could feel his hands twitch between them, obviously struggling with her command not to touch her, and decided to take pity on him.

Breaking the kiss, she sat up, trailing her fingers down his chest. She slid her thumb over the pink line that had formed where her mother had attacked him and was suddenly struck with the memory of him, bleeding in front of her, truly vulnerable for the first time. Her curiosity about his reasons for being here passed as a fleeting thought before she was distracted once again by the shifting hardness under her lap. Straightening, hands lingering on his ribs, she tossed her hair over her shoulder and looked down at him.

“I want you to take off my dress. You can touch me, but no more ripping my clothes.”

He licked his lips, the skin around his eyes softening nearly imperceptibly, before placing a warm hand on each of her knees, pushing her dress up to the top of her thighs. She was forced to lift herself up to kneeling in order to let him push the fabric over her ass and hips. When his hands got to her waist, he gave a squeeze before releasing his handfuls of fabric so he could sit up. Marta couldn’t help but admire the way his abs rippled, pressing her hands against his skin and bracing herself on his chest while he reached behind her to undo the clasp at the back of her neck that held the halter dress up. The proximity of his naked flesh, his warmth and the tangy scent of his cologne, was making her breath quicken. When the clasp was unhooked, he trailed his fingers over her shoulders before releasing the fabric, and she inhaled sharply.

The silk pooled between them, the styling tape she’d secured it with earlier easily peeling off her skin with a careful tug from Ransom. His hands reached down between them and he gathered the fabric, pulling it up her ribs until she raised her arms, finally removing it from her entirely and tossing it aside, leaving her fully nude on top of him. Her nipples brushed against the hair on his chest as she leaned into him, her hands falling to his shoulders while he nuzzled her neck and gripped her by the hips. His lips brushed against her ear and she shivered when he whispered her name.

“Tell me what to do.”

With a light touch, she pushed on his shoulders. “Lie back.” He complied wordlessly, letting his fingers graze across her nakedness while she did the same, hands lingering on his abdomen once he was fully on his back. His hands still lay on her knees, thumbs rubbing circles on the inside of her legs. She shuffled backwards, settling over his thighs while her hands went to work on his trousers. The heavy tweed didn’t hide his erection as much as she would have thought, and when she unzipped his pants, his dark boxers provided her with a good idea as to what she’d find underneath. Focusing on his pants instead of the promise of his cock, she pulled them down his thighs, tugging them off his feet and tossing them aside. She smirked at his argyle socks and looked up at him.

“Pink, Ransom?”

“Fuck you, they’re warm.” She slapped the bottom of his foot and he jerked.

“Be good.” With a stern look at him she unrolled his socks, maneuvering around the ankle bracelet, and threw them into the pile of his clothes before swinging her leg back over him and reaching for the waistband of his boxers. Tugging at them, she gave him a signal to lift his hips by tapping his sides and pulled them down, freeing his cock and making her lick her lips. It had been so long since she’d been with anyone, and now here she was, stripping her attempted murdered like she was unwrapping a candy, absolutely salivating at the thought of having her way with him.

She’d never had the need for control with anyone else quite like she did with Ransom, and as she slid the last remnant of his clothes out from under him, tossing the final garment into the pile, she let herself lean into the feeling of power. So much of the last few years had felt wildly out of control, like she was being carried away by the current of events around her. Harlan’s death, Ransom’s previous attempts to befriend and manipulate her, the inheritance, the constant legal problems, her mother’s immigration status and the events with ICE. All of it had compounded to give Marta the sense that her life was wildly chaotic.

Until she visited Ransom that first time in prison.

When she was with him, handcuffs prohibiting his movement, blue jumpsuit branding him as property of the state, she had the upper hand. She was totally, utterly, inarguably the one with the power. And now, as she straddled his hard cock and pressed her wet core against him, pulling a groan out of his pouty mouth, his face proving to her how absolutely wrecked he was, she felt it again. The elation of knowing that she was the driver of this experience. And that he would, without a doubt, let her direct him.

Because Marta had come to learn, after spending the last two and half years getting to know the man who attempted to stab her on an impulse, that the only thing he wanted more than his grandfather’s wealth, was to belong to someone. He’d lived his life on the knifes’ edge of being stubbornly and resolutely independent to the point of alienating everyone who could love him. And without having to ask, she knew that if she promised him belonging, he’d do anything for her.

“Ransom.” She reached down and pulled his cock into her hand, squeezing her fingers around its length and watching the way his eyes rolled back into his head while his fingers dug into the flesh of her thighs. “I’m going to fuck you now.”

“Shit.”

He hissed out the expletive between his teeth as she lifted herself up and rubbed the tip of his cock through the slick wetness that had pooled between her legs. With her other hand she reached between them and spread herself open, brushing her thumb over her clit while he watched, his lower lip pulled between his teeth. She wasn’t sure she was doing any of it right, feeling horribly out of practice at the art of seduction, but when she felt the first stretch of him entering her, she let out a low moan and watched as his eyes clouded with lust. When she sank down fully onto him, taking him inside her completely, she felt so full it took her a minute to remember how to breath. Once her breath returned, she looked down at him, her fallen angel with blue eyes, and felt a thrill run through her when she realized he was _hers_.

“You don’t get to leave, do you understand?” With a roll of her hips she pulled another hiss from him, watching his muscles tense and enjoying the feeling of his cock pulsing inside her as he waited patiently for permission to do anything other than hold her thighs in an iron grip. “You chose to come to me, and now I’m keeping you.”

“Shit, Marta – “ it came out as a whine and she leaned over him, placing her small hand around his neck and pushing his chin up with her thumb.

“Shhh. Be good for me.” She lifted up slowly, enjoying the slide against her inner walls, before swiveling her hips again, panting at the way the head of his hard cock hit the sensitive spot inside her. His throat bobbed under her hand and she sank back down until her ass hit his thighs. Her other hand slipped between them and she reached for her clit, slowly rolling the bud between her fingers. “Do you want to touch me?” She increased the pressure on his neck, pushing her hand up against the hard line of his jaw. “Tell me what you want, Ransom.”

His hands twitched on her thigh and he looked up at her through his lashes. “I want to be so fucking deep inside you that you can never get me out.”

Marta rocked back on his hips, adjusting the angle so she was taking him as fully as possible. “Like this?”

“Yes.” He licked his lips, watching as she continued to slide her fingers over her clit.

With a smile she began to move over him, anchoring herself with the hand around his neck as she slid up and down. His hands pushed up her thighs as she gained her rhythm. She rode him, watching as he arched underneath her, wondering how long she could last. It had been so long since she’d been with anyone, the desire to fuck him hard and fast until she came had her chasing her orgasm with little regard for whether he was following.

“Shit, shit, shit.” She dropped her head back on her shoulders as she bounced up and down on him until she fell over the edge. Her knees squeezed his hips as she felt the curling in her abdomen tighten, thumbing at her clit faster as the orgasm raced up her spine and overwhelmed her. Her hand clenched around his neck while she came, pulling a low growl from him, while the one that had been on her clit dropped and dug into the back of his hand where it clutched at her thigh as she twitched and pulsed around him.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she looked down at him, releasing her grip on his neck and slowly sliding her hand down his chest. He adjusted under her and she felt another zing rush up her spine.

“God, your face when you come.”

Marta curled down over him and ran her finger over his lips before kissing him, pushing her tongue to meet his while she ran her fingers through his hair. She fisted the locks before pulling back and looking down at him. “I want to see what you look like when _you_ come. I bet you look even prettier than you do now.”

He tired to glare at her, but she rocked her hips, ruining it. Ruining _him._ He gasped as she moved, and pulled his bottom lip between his teeth again, eyelids fluttering closed in pleasure.

“Look at me.” He obeyed, blue eyes piercing with unrestrained lust and something else gazing up into her face. “I want you to fuck me, come inside me, and then say ‘thank you Marta’.”

“Up your ass.”

She laughed down at him. “Not today.” His lips twitched and she ran her finger across his eyebrows. “Fuck me, Ransom.”

He lifted his head up and captured her lips with a growl, raising one hand to curl into the hair at her neck and reaching for a handful of her ass with the other. She felt him adjust his feet to get better leverage before he began to thrust up into her. His hand on her head tightened on her hair as he broke the kiss, head falling back on the mattress. Marta placed her hands on either side of him, thumbs brushing his ears as he worked furiously beneath her. The hand palming her ass was squeezing at the flesh of her rump and he used his grip on her to lift and drag her against him. The friction was making her twitch, and she realized as she panted over him that he was going to make her come a second time just with his cock.

Her lips ghosted over his and she whispered encouragement to him under her breath, telling him how good he was, how well he was doing, how he was going to make her come again. His spine arched and he pulled her down hard against him, grinding her clit into her pubic bone, creating a surge of sensation that flooded through her. He came with a grunt and the combination of the pressure on her clit, the feeling of liquid heat inside her from his come and the twitching of his cock after his orgasm pushed her over the edge. She watched his face as they came together, eyes tight and jaw clenched before she lowered to press her lips to his chin, stretching across him, burying her face in his neck.

He panted a few more breaths into her ear before whispering sarcastically, “Thank you, Marta.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

He stilled under her. “But you like me anyway.”

Marta lifted up and stared down at him, their moods both turning serious with just that single statement. He hadn’t phrased it as a question, exactly, but she knew that’s what it was.

“Don’t lie to me.” He looked vulnerable and soft in a way she hadn’t seen him before, until he realized what he’d said and drew the mask back up, hardening his features. “Puke isn’t actually my thing.”

“I do like you. Even if it makes me hate myself a little.”

“Such a fucking martyr.” He rolled his eyes, but the grip on her hip tightened and his other hand curled around her back.

“Say good night, Ransom.”

“Good night, Ransom.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're welcome! ;)
> 
> You can find me on Twitter at [Mokelly1066](https://twitter.com/mokelly1066)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aand we're back!
> 
> I completely skipped two regularly scheduled updates, so apologies if folks were wondering where I went. Last week was really fucking rough, and then the Loki trailer dropped (*incoherent shrieking*) so I was, uh, distracted over the weekend.
> 
> But I am back! And hopefully you enjoy the latest installment. Thank you all for reading!!

Marta awoke to a heavy weight on her stomach and a mild headache. She wasn’t hung over, exactly, but too much champagne always made her head hurt and she had very clearly had too much champagne the night before. When she looked down at the arm slung across her abdomen, she stilled. She hadn’t been faced with a morning after in a _very_ long time and this particular morning was beyond her wildest imagination.

Since she couldn’t see his face, she wasn’t sure if he was awake, so as delicately as possible she began to remove herself from underneath the weight of his limb. Either he was fully conscious or an incredibly light sleeper because with the first adjustment she made his grip on her tightened and his head turned to face her.

“Morning.” His voice was husky, the residue of sleep still clinging to it, and Marta just stared, completely unsure how to respond. Almost a full minute passed before he rolled off her and onto his back. “Jesus, Marta, are you always this fucking rude?”

“I – “ She stopped talking, electing to swing her feet onto the floor and wrap the top blanket around her as she stood up and turned back around to stare at him. How, exactly, was she _supposed_ to respond in this situation? Where was her confidence and take-charge attitude from the night before? Ransom, on the other hand, looked completely relaxed. His arms were behind his head and he was staring up at her with the same calculating stare he used when he was trying to figure out an angle. It wasn’t fair.

“Huh.” He’d obviously come to some sort of conclusion, because he sat up and threw the blankets off before standing and walking, completely naked, over to the pile of his clothes. She couldn’t help the fact that her eyes tracked his movement or that he had probably the nicest ass she’d ever seen on a man. It was a completely natural response. When he pulled the boxers up over the object of her stare, it forced her out of whatever trance she’d fallen into. Marta focused on wrapping the comforter around her more securely while he pulled on his pants.

He tugged the sweater on over his head and grabbed his shoes and socks before turning around. His fly was still undone, and his bare feet poked out from underneath his pant legs. She kept her eyes focused on his toes until he stopped right in front of her.

“Just fucking say it, Cabrera. I’ve been on your side of this more times than I can count. Man the fuck up.”

She looked up at him and swallowed. “I don’t know what - .”

“Oh, cut it out!” She flinched at the increase in volume and when he spoke again his voice had taken on a sing-song tone. “’It was a mistake, Ransom’, ‘we can’t do this again, Ransom’. Right?”

“That’s not – I didn’t say that.”

“Nah, but you’re thinking it.” He stepped closer and let his eyes wander over her, starting at the top of her head before traversing the entirety of her blanket wrapped form before slowly coming back up to her face. “You regret all of it, don’t you?”

“No.” She didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but the minute she said it her stomach gurgled, and she pressed her lips together. “Ransom - ” The vomit threatened and she had to put her hand over her mouth.

“Jesus, you’re as bad the goddamned bulimic I slept with in college.” He brushed past her and strode to the door. She struggled to gather the blanket around her sufficiently so as to not trip on when she ran to the bathroom, emptying her stomach into the toilet with a violent heave. As a result, she missed the way he paused at the door and looked back at her before yanking it open and slamming it shut on the way out.

After dressing and brushing her teeth without making eye contact with the reflection in the mirror, Marta carefully made her way downstairs, ears cocked for any sound of her confounding houseguest. Luckily for her, he didn’t appear to be in the house – or if he was he was doing an excellent job of hiding. In fact, Marta didn’t see Ransom for the rest of the morning and after her initial apprehension, she relaxed into her day as much as she was able. Alice had spent the night like she’d promised but had left early enough so that Marta didn’t see her depart or say goodbye. At one point, Marta wondered if Alice had witnessed Ransom’s departure, hoping that her sister hadn’t been around to see Ransom leave her room earlier. That shame spiral lasted a good thirty minutes. She could barely explain what happened to herself, much less to Alice who had made it clear she thought Marta was mentally deficient. She considered calling Blanc again just to have someone to talk to about it, but she imagined explaining the fact that she’d slept with Ransom to him and had immediately decided against it. He was understanding but she didn’t think he was _that_ understanding.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Marta scrubbed her hands over her face and leaned into them, elbows on her knees. She was on the front porch, hoping the fresh air would clear her head, a cup of now cold coffee sitting next to her on the small table. She heard the sound of the gravel crunching, indicating the arrival of another vehicle, and lifted her head, wondering who it could be. Her mother wasn’t supposed to return from the spa until tomorrow afternoon. The Volkswagen that pulled into the driveway looked vaguely familiar, but Marta didn’t connect the dots until the driver stepped out of the vehicle. It was Caitlyn, the party planner.

Confused, and wondering whether she’d forgotten something, Marta moved to get out of the chair to greet her. Before she could, however, she was interrupted by the sound of the front door closing behind her. A familiar scent of cologne hit her nose, and with a slightly horrified choking noise she watched Ransom exit the house, his sunglasses snug on his face. Her head snapped back to the woman in the driveway, who was now waving enthusiastically. Ignoring Marta completely, Ransom jogged down the stairs and greeted the blonde with a side hug, throwing his arm over her shoulder as the two walked to her car. Horrified, Marta watched as he opened the driver’s side door in a rare display of chivalry and suavely helped Caitlyn into her sedan. When he slammed the door, he turned back to look at Marta and gave her a mocking salute before walking jauntily around the car and getting in himself.

“That fucking asshole.” Marta stood, furious, and stomped back into the house, coffee cup forgotten. She stormed up the stairs, mixed feelings driving her ire. When she got to her room, she yanked out her sneakers and grabbed a hoodie from the closet, zipping it up so aggressively she almost caught herself in it. Her frustration from this morning, which had previously motivated her to do nothing more than loose herself in her thoughts, had taken on a decidedly physical bent. She wanted to run, punch, kick. Her response to whatever had just happened downstairs was visceral, and all she wanted to do was take the dogs and walk down to the lake, stomp through the mud, and throw rocks into the water. Sure, it was petulant and unproductive, but so was Ransom and right now she felt like maybe she deserved to act as ridiculous as he was.

Shoes on, she jogged back downstairs, pulling on her scarf and her hat, before slipping her hands into her pockets and leaving the house. With a whistle, the dogs joined her, and she walked quickly across the lawn and down the hill through the trees until she came to the edge of the water. The dogs ran in laps around her, chasing the sticks she threw and barking at the occasional bird. She walked for nearly an hour before she elected to turn back around, the frustration that had motivated her having finally worked its way through her system. Her emotions had settled somewhat after swirling for the first part of her walk, and the conclusion she’d drawn was that she was _jealous_. It seemed improbable at best, but by the time she returned to the house, she had admitted to herself that it was the only possible explanation for her unreasonable reaction to his outing with the party planner.

When the protective fury wore off, she became convinced that he had set this up with the blond days ago when she’d been working on the party. This thought alone left her cold and even more confused than she’d been that morning. As far as she was concerned, it was completely reasonable, sane even, for her to have mixed feelings about sleeping with the man who’d tried to kill her. At this point she wished she could go back to earlier when that was the only thing on her mind. Now she was also obsessing over whether or not it was completely normal for her to be jealous of a blond party planner who was barely out of college.

With a frustrated growl she tossed her outer wear onto the table and made her way to the kitchen where she put on the kettle and grabbed a package of cookies from the cupboard. She popped one into her mouth and pulled down her mug and some chamomile tea, hoping that it would calm her mind and maybe give her the illusion of normalcy. She still had work to do this afternoon post fundraiser, after all, and couldn’t afford to devote the rest of the day to her swirling thoughts about Ransom. The silent auction bids had to be sorted and she needed to make sure that the donors were prepared to provide the items they’d donated before the end of the week. With that purpose in mind, she prepared her tea, grabbed the package of cookies, and headed to the office.

It was almost three hours later when she pulled her eyes away from her laptop. Her tea was long gone, and the package of cookies was emptier than she would have liked. She was stress eating, clearly, but there was nothing she could do about it at this point. Of course, if she was obligated to speak with Ransom, there was a good chance she’d lie and purge the cookies anyway.

With a groan, she stood, leaving the cookies on the desk, and walked into the study where she grabbed the novel she was reading. The mystery was one of her favorites and one of Harlan’s last. She curled up lengthwise on the velvet sofa and turned to her marked page, quickly losing herself in the story Harlan had woven. She’d read it before, but the resolution with the cow and the shotgun was so clever she didn’t mind that she knew the ending. When the front door opened an unclear amount of time later, her nerves were immediately on edge. The sound of footsteps moved closer and she felt her neck tense when the smell of Ransom’s cologne hit her nose. The scent was immediately followed by the sound of glass clinking and she knew without having to look that he was pouring himself a glass of scotch from the bar contained in the small dollhouse.

Marta tried to focus on her book, but she was re-reading the same sentence over and over again in an effort to keep from saying anything. She refused to give him the satisfaction of speaking to him unprompted, and adjusted her position on the couch, rolling her shoulders as subtly as she could. When he stepped around to sit on the same sofa, pulling her feet into his lap, she jerked.

“Reading some of grandfather’s drivel?”

Marta resisted the urge to kick him in the teeth, ignoring how warm his hand felt on her ankle and the oddly comforting sounds of the ice clinking in his glass as he took a drink. Without looking up from the page, she spoke.

“Did you fuck her?”

She was answered with silence, and after a few moments of staring at the words blend together on the pages of her book, she turned towards him. His elbow was on the arm of the couch, holding the drink, but his body was twisted towards her and his expression was smug.

“Thought about it.”

Marta slammed her book shut and tossed it on the coffee table, twisting towards him. He took another sip of the amber liquor, eyes not leaving hers as the two of them carried on some bizarre silent struggle for dominance. He broke first.

“Jesus, Marta, nothing happened.” He put the glass down on the table at the end of the couch, resting one elbow on the arm while he stretched the other over the back. She kicked his thigh and he glared at her. “We brunched, I took her back to my place, picked up my car, and blew her off.”

“Are you an idiot?”

He picked up the empty glass and sucked a piece of ice into his mouth, chewing on it while he stared at her, eyes narrowed in annoyance. It was obvious he wasn’t going to answer her, so she rolled onto her knees and crept closer to him until she was pressed against his thigh. He relaxed his head back on the couch and looked up at her, expression unchanged.

“Did you arrange this today?”

“Nope.” He popped the ‘p’ as if making a point.

“So, you decided to fuck my party planner last week.”

He sat up and leaned towards her, breath ghosting across her face. “Didn’t think I’d get to fuck you.”

She shoved him back with a palm to his chest, her hand lingering once he was fully reclined. “Maybe you don’t anymore.” Her hand slid down his chest until she hit the fly of his pants, some pair of mauve cotton trousers that sat low on his waist. She watched his face as she moved lower, sliding over the bulge that had developed before she cupped his balls through his clothes and squeezed.

“Maybe this,” she increased the pressure of her grip until he stiffened underneath her, “just stays in your pants until I say so?”

“Marta – “

“Ransom.” She stared down at him, watched as he licked his lips, his eyes glinting like sapphires as he stared up at her. “I can feel you getting hard. You like it when I tell you what to do, don’t you?” Her eyes dropped to his mouth as he ran his tongue across his teeth. “Well this is what I’m telling you.” She squeezed again, pulling a low grunt from him before sliding her hand up to work on his fly.

“You don’t get to fuck pretty little party planners,” she popped the button on his pants, her eyes meeting his while she lowered the zipper. “And you don’t get to fuck me,” she reached into his underwear and wrapped her hand around his erection while she leaned in closer until her lips nearly brushed his, “unless you’re good.”

She saw movement out of the corner of her eye as he reached for her with the arm slung over the back of the couch. With her free hand she pushed him away while sliding the other hand up his cock. “Uh-uh.”

“What, you jerk me off, but I can’t touch you?”

“Maybe I just want to see you come apart.” She slid her hand up his length again, then slowly back down before she got into a rhythm, twisting her wrist while she pumped him, her thumb sliding over the sensitive spot below his head with each pass, making his breathing stutter each time. She curled her other hand into his hair and tugged his head back so she could hover over him. “Maybe I want to see you come apart and not be able to do a single _._ Thing. About it.”

His lids got heavier each time her hand moved over his length and Marta gave into her urge to mark him, leaning over and licking a stripe up his neck until she settled over the pulse point beneath his ear. The scent of his cologne was strongest there and she inhaled deeply as she bit into the strong muscles cording his neck.

“Jesus, Marta, go easy on me.”

“Shut up, or I’ll stop right now and go back to my book.” She hissed the threat in his ear before returning her lips to the spot right over her pulse where she proceeded to leave a love bite worthy of a horny teenager. When she was done, she lifted her head back up, noticing how tightly he was gripping the back of the couch, eyes closed and lips pressed together.

“Do you want to come, Ransom?” He nodded, having taken her directive not to talk to heart, and she quickened her pace before leaning over him again, lips so close to his she felt them when she spoke. “Then come.”

It only took another two strokes before his hips canted up into her hand and she felt the hot liquid shoot out of him, making a mess of his boxers, his trousers and her palm. She released him, wiping the sticky white liquid on the front of his navy sweater, before cupping his jaw with both hands and pressing her lips to his. The kiss was filthy, all teeth and tongue and he responded to her aggression by lifting his head up and meeting her halfway, tilting his face to provide her better access. When she lifted her mouth from his and looked him over, she was struck briefly by the expression on his face. It was almost affectionate before his more familiar smirk returned.

“I should be bad more often.”

“You’re a nightmare.” She let go of him and sat back on her feet.

“Come on Cabrera, it’s a fucking joke.” He dropped his hand off the back of the couch onto his lap before making a face of disgust. “Jesus, you wiped it on my sweater?”

Marta just shrugged. “Seemed as good a place as any.” She settled back into the position he’d found her in and leaned over to the coffee table to grab her book before sliding her feet under his thigh and looking over at him. “I was serious.”

“About?” He’d returned his attention back to his clothes, wiping away the evidence of what had just happened on the expensive wool and adjusting his trousers.

“Keeping your dick in your pants.”

He stopped buttoning his fly and looked over at her briefly, eyes narrowing, before he twisted his body, crawling over her slowly, as though giving her enough time to stop him, before draping himself over her and settling his weight on top of her. She let out a little squeak, the feel of him familiar as she recalled the last time she’d truly felt his entire weight pressing into her. Her heart rate increased with a surge of panic. Eyes flitting over his face, her anxiety at the familiar position grew before he ran a finger across her jaw, a gesture she found oddly reassuring.

He let his eyes glide over her, gaze narrowing on her lips, before he pushed himself up and off her, leaving her breathless. He only took a few steps before pausing and turning around to give her a slightly mocking look. “I assume the dick can leave the pants for a shower?”

“God you’re so juvenile.”

“Yet weirdly, you like me.” He spun around and proceeded to head upstairs. She watched him go, jogging up the staircase like he didn’t have a care in the world, and settled back into the couch, book open to the page she’d been on when he entered. She stared at the words until they bled together into a mishmash of black lines before closing the book and pulling her lower lip between her teeth to worry at it.

She really should put a stop to this, whatever it was that was going on between them. There was absolutely no reason to think that he wasn’t here for entirely selfish reasons, that he didn’t have some agenda she wasn’t privy to. In fact, it was entirely possible that he’d planned this entire thing from the moment she visited him for the first time.

“God, Marta, you’re getting paranoid.” She reached for the book again, but she couldn’t shake the sense that this was all another elaborate scheme, and that he would eventually, as he’d threatened to over three years ago, show her how much hell he could wreak on her life.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get to learn some more about Blood Like Wine and Marta remains torn about Ransom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Sunday fair readers! Once again apologies for deviating from the posting schedule on this! Thanks for sticking with me!

With her mother’s return the following morning, Marta spent much of the day catching up and telling her about how the silent auction went and what kind of money was raised. She omitted any discussion of her time with Ransom, for obvious reasons, but did mention that Walt and he had gotten into it at the party.

“I can’t believe you let that man around your guests.”

“He lives here.” Marta felt a sense of déjà vu as she repeated the same thing she’d told Alice. “And he’s trying.”

“If you say so, _mija._ If you say so.”

They moved onto other things and by the time dinner rolled around, Marta realized she hadn’t seen Ransom all day. She had been meaning to speak with him about the job at the publishing company since she fully expected him to start helping out next week. By the time dinner was over, her desire to seek him out was distracting to the point of prohibiting further conversion so she left her mother to her _Murder, She Wrote_ watching and made her way upstairs where knocked on the door to his room.

When there was no response, she took a risk and tried the knob. It turned easily, letting her into his room, only for her to find it empty. A flash of panic twisted her gut and she walked quickly over to the window to check whether his car was still in the drive. When she saw it parked where he’d left it yesterday her confusion intensified for a moment until a thought occurred to her. Following her instincts, she made her way up to the third floor and then further up to Harlan’s study. The door was closed and without any warning, she opened it and stepped inside.

Ransom was there, back to her, dressed in loose fitting pajama pants and a robe, barefoot and seemingly ready for bed.

“What are you doing up here?” He didn’t respond to her, instead running his fingers across the items on the desk. “Ransom?”

“Nothing. I don’t know.” He swiped his hand across the desk in a dismissive gesture and turned around to look at her. He gave a dismissive shrug and rolled his eyes, a single eyebrow staying up. “I guess I miss him.”

Marta shivered, the ghost of Harlan brushing across her consciousness as she looked at his grandson. The reminder of her friend colored her response.

“You basically killed him, Ransom.”

His eyes narrowed, the right one twitching. “Eat shit, Marta.”

She looked around the room, ignoring his insult, resisting the urge to apologize. She was _right_ , damnit, she didn’t need to apologize for the truth. “We’re going to go to the publishing company tomorrow. And you’re going to make it right.”

He gave an exaggerated sigh and out of the corner of her eye she saw him loll his head back on his shoulders for a minute before returning to look at her. “Only you would think a nine to five would make up for my fucking bullshit.”

Marta’s eyes snapped back to his. “Your ‘fucking bullshit’?”

He dismissed her question with a shrug before taking a step closer to her. “So, penance through publishing?”

“Something like that.”

She held his gaze, arms crossed over her chest in an effort to defend herself from what she saw in his blue orbs, hands fisted as they rested in the opposite elbow.

“And what about you? Do I need to get down on my knees for you, Marta?” He stepped closer and she held her ground, refusing to give in to the predatory look on his face. “What do I need to do to repent for my sins against the great Marta Cabrera?”

“Ransom – “ He stepped closer, the expression on his face, the hard mask he wore, crumbling with something that looked shockingly like regret, before he took a final step, so close now that the knuckles of her fists touched his thermal shirt. His heat leached into her and almost against her will, she unlocked her arms, brushing her fingers against his chest. Her movement seemed to be the permission he was waiting for, and he leaned in to rest his forehead on her shoulder, pushing against her almost like he was seeking affection; like a pet from his master. It was then Marta realized what his goal was.

Ransom Drysdale wanted a hug.

Hands shaky, she lifted her arms and settled them around his shoulders. He literally melted into her, grabbing her around the waist and pressing his head into her neck. Marta was momentarily stunned, not sure how to process what was happening, how to reconcile the vulnerable man before her with the asshole who conspired to kill his grandfather. He tugged her closer, his warm hands wrapped around her almost double until they were splayed over her ribs and he had her completely enveloped in his embrace. Her eyes landed on the love bite she’d given him the day before and she brushed her finger over it, pulling a noise from him and causing him to press his face further into her neck.

“Why do you smell so fucking good all the time?”

“It’s my soap. It’s cedarwood.” She felt him breath deeply against her neck and couldn’t stop her shiver in response. They stood there in silence for a moment before she heard him take another deep sigh.

“Maybe it can cleanse my soul.” He muttered before releasing her, hands trailing across her ribs as he pushed past her, leavening her alone in Harlan’s office. 

* * *

Breakfast the next morning wasn’t as awkward as Marta had expected it to be, given the intimate moment she and Ransom had the night before. For some reason their brief conversation in Harlan’s study had done more damage to her equilibrium than the sex, and she was nervous about seeing him. Her mother had gotten up early and made coffee and breakfast so Marta prepared a plate of beans and plantains for herself before sitting at the table in the kitchen. Ransom joined her shortly after she sat down, sliding a chair out from the table and sprawling in it, as he tended to do. The man just took up space like he was entitled to it.

He watched her eat, and after a few bites her self-consciousness took over.

“What are you staring at?”

He leaned forward and plucked a fried plantain off her plate, popping it into his mouth. She watched him chew before he leaned back into the chair and returned to sipping at his coffee.

“You’re so annoying.” She pushed her plate away from her, full enough to justify not eating the rest, especially while being the focus of his attention. He smirked and reached for her fork, helping himself to her leftovers while she watched in irritation.

“You could have just asked for a plate of your own.”

He pushed the plate aside and leaned across the table, looking at her through lowered lashes like he was preparing for some sort of seduction. “Marta.”

“What?”

“If it’s yours, it will always be better than if it’s mine.” He sucked air through his teeth and shrugged his head before pushing away from the table. “We’re taking the beamer.”

* * *

The publishing company was located in the heart of Boston’s publishing district and took up several floors in one of the smaller buildings. The trip into the city had been an exercise in crisis management, as far as Marta was concerned, Ransom’s driving giving her several near heart attacks as he weaved in and out of the traffic. When they arrived at the parking garage, she gave him a hard stare before releasing her death grip on the seatbelt and exiting the car.

When he got out himself, he leaned over the roof of the beamer and smirked at her. “Live a little.”

“I don’t think your driving emphasizes survival.”

He rolled his eyes and made a face before locking the car, stepping around and joining her as they made their way towards the elevator.

“This is still a shit idea.”

“You need a job. I need someone to help. We both get what we want.”

Ransom pushed the button for the fourth floor, spinning his keys around his finger like a toy before stepping back to stand next to her. “Yeah, it’s a dream come true. Thanks, Marta.”

She ignored his sarcasm, staring straight ahead until the doors opened to the lobby of Blood Like Wine. They stepped out, Marta slightly in the lead, and entered the smallish atrium. The area had a reception desk, over which the company’s half-moon logo hung, and a few copies of Harlan’s most popular novels on the coffee table that sat between two arm-chairs. Marta smiled at the receptionist and gave her a little wave.

“Good morning Nancy.”

“Good morning Miss Cabrera.” The older brunette side eyed Ransom, but he ignored her perusal and followed Marta as she led him further into the heart of the publishing company. The area behind the main reception desk was a small cubicle farm of around twenty desks, and as Marta weaved through the maze of the fabric walls she kept up a conversation with him.

“These are the folks who work on sales and managing our shipping.”

Ransom rolled his eyes but didn’t respond and Marta resisted the urge to smack the disinterest off his face.

“It took me about eight months before I knew what all of these people did.”

“Probably because learning what they did was boring as shit.”

“I think you’ll manage.” She glared at him before stopping on front of one of the offices that bordered the sea of cubicles, pulling out a set of keys and unlocking the door.

“Gee, your confidence is overwhelming.”

“Just try not to make a mess of my company.”

Marta opened the door to the office where she had spent nearly a year sorting through all the details of the publishing company and as she led Ransom inside, she wondered whether this would actually work or if she was overestimating him. The publishing company really did need some attention. With no new books and a lack of a business savvy leader around on a regular basis, Blood Like Wine was in a sort of holding pattern. Reprints and a steady income from the Harlan Thrombey library were keeping the business afloat, but it felt like they were clinging to Harlan’s legacy instead of building on it. But as she watched Ransom explore the space, hands trailing across the desk and eyes cataloguing the shelves, she remembered their conversation from the night before.

Maybe this _would_ work.

Of course, as he tended to do, Ransom ruined everything entirely when he stepped around the desk and sat in the chair, leaning back and putting his feet up next to the computer keyboard in a display of irreverence.

“Don’t sit like that, it’s rude.”

“Isn’t this my office now?” The look he gave her was insouciant, but there was a glint of mischief in his eyes that she felt compelled to respond to.

“Get your feet off the desk.”

“Make me.”

Licking her lips, she contemplated ignoring his challenge entirely, only for him to raise his eyebrow at her in a way that transformed his face into something boyish and utterly adorable. Marta glanced over her shoulder, confirming the door was shut, before stepping towards him. She made a show of placing her purse on the edge of the desk and running her palms over the front of her corduroy skirt before abruptly shoving his feet off the dark wood.

He continued to stare at her, a smirk playing around his mouth. His hands were relaxed, elbows resting on the arms of the chair and Marta stepped closer to him, kicking his loafered feet further apart. With a quirk of her lips, she reached up under her skirt with both hands and hooked her thumbs into the lace of her panties, pulling them down her legs and stepping out of them while he watched, pupils darkening.

“You’re such a brat.”

“Yup.” The annoying popping “p” was back, causing Marta to narrow her eyes.

“Undo your pants.”

Ransom dropped his hands to his waist, undoing the ties on the loose-fitting linen, and tugged them down around his hips without breaking eye contact.

“And your boxers.” She watched as he lowered the underwear, exposing his half hard cock to her gaze. When she stepped closer, she pulled her skirt up around her waist, causing his pupils to dilate and his breath to quicken at the sight of her. Which in turned started a low throbbing between her legs. “Touch yourself. Get hard for me.”

One hand wrapped around his length, and as he began to stroke himself his other hand reached for her hip, tugging her closer to him. He relaxed back into the chair and looked up at her, pulling his lower lip in between his teeth while he worked himself.

Marta leaned over and braced herself on his shoulders before she crawled into his lap, knees carefully placed on either side of his hips so as not to rock the reclining chair too much. Once they were steady, she felt his free hand slide up the back of her ass and squeeze, pulling her towards him. She took a moment to look down at him, struck once again by the situation in which she found herself and the ease with which she let herself go to this place with him. A furrow formed between her brows as she contemplated all the myriad ways this moment seemed unreal.

“This is – ” She cut herself off, not quite able to find the word to encompass her feelings, instead letting her eyes track over his face while she chewed on her bottom lip.

After a few moments when she didn’t finish, he cocked his head at her. “Finally getting a conscience?”

“I have a conscience, asshole.” Annoyed at how easily he was able to read her, she reached for his erection, pushing his hand aside, before guiding the hard length to her wet center, pressing down until she was fully seated on him. The sound of his groan and the feeling of him inside her derailed her train of thought momentarily. But she kept eye contact with his sapphire orbs while he wrapped his arms around her waist and stayed still above him, needing there to be some acknowledgement of her concerns even while she had him inside her. Her hands gripped his shoulders and she let him pull her closer while her amber eyes remained on his face.

“Don’t move.” He kept his hands on her waist, but followed her direction, staying still and subjecting himself to her perusal while she tried to make sense of the conflicting thoughts in her head. Slowly, she rolled her hips over him as she considered her words.

“You don’t love me.”

“Marta – “

She covered his mouth with her hand before he could finish. “Shut up.” Her thighs tensed as she rode him slowly, using him to hit the sweet spot inside her.

“Do you want your life back? Is that why you’re here?” She closed her eyes as she increased her pace. “Or do you want what I stole from you?”

His grip on her hips tightened and he started to help her move, lifting her and pulling her down, pressing up into her as she fucked him. When his hand moved around to stroke her clit she gasped and leaned closer to him, opening her eyes to take him in. “Or maybe you just want to ruin me.”

He slammed into her particularly hard after that and she grunted, pulling her hand off his mouth before pressing her lips to his. It was a free for all after that, both of them letting go of any control they had previously clung to. His hands were everywhere, on her breasts, her ass, her hips. She anchored herself in his hair, leaning over him as their tongues and teeth clashed, sharing panting breaths while they moved faster and faster. She felt his thumb graze her clit and twitched out of the rhythm they’d found, bucking against him while he worked her. When his other hand reached around and slid into the cleft between her cheeks, fingers brushing over the pucker of her asshole she bit down on his lip, pulling a low growl from him while she tried to hold off the orgasm that was threatening to overwhelm her. His hands were too distracting, too focused on pushing her over the edge, and after a few more thrusts she came hard, releasing a high-pitched moan that he captured in his mouth. He took advantage of her post orgasm relaxation and grabbed her hips, fucking up into her mercilessly until he followed her over the edge, fingers digging into her flesh hard enough to leave bruises while he flung his head back against the chair.

Marta resisted the urge to lean into him, to collapse against his chest and relax into his embrace. It was too much to take, her conflicted feelings about the man underneath her. She could begrudgingly admit that she liked him, that she wanted him, but he was still an enigma and she felt like he could morph from domesticated puppy into a threat at any moment. So instead of lingering in whatever afterglow there might be, she lifted herself off his lap, ignoring the warm liquid that leaked down her inner thigh, and stepped away from him. When she glanced back at Ransom, his cock was still out, and those blue eyes bored into her while he watched her try to situate herself, awkwardly pulling on her lace panties before tugging her skirt down.

“You think I’m here to ruin you?” His voice was rough with the aftereffects of the sex and, if she was right, anger. “To fuck you out of granddad’s money? To take back my family legacy?”

“I don’t know.” She gave a little shrug and straightened her top. “If so, I am basically handing it to you on a silver platter.”

His eyes narrowed and he looked away, attention dropping from her to focus on covering himself. He opened his mouth to say something more but was interrupted by the door to the office opening.

“Hey Marta, Nancy mentioned you were here.” Walt stepped into the office, obsequious smile on his face. His gaze slid over to the other person in the room and the smile faltered. “Ransom.”

“Walter.”

“Walt, what are you doing here?” Marta tried to finish tucking in her blouse on the sly while she glanced between the two men. The last thing she needed was another fight like the one they got into at the fundraiser.

“Oh. I thought you knew?” Walt shifted awkwardly and put his hands in his pockets. “I come down here sometimes, to answer questions and consult. You know. Offer up my expertise.”

Marta’s eyes narrowed, ignoring the way Ransom laughed at his uncle, but before she could say anything he spoke.

“You mean the expertise that got you fired?”

There was a beat where no one said anything before Walt turned back to Marta. “Anyway, I figured since you were here, we could talk. Maybe I could help out with the person you hired and – “

“Walt.” Marta cut him off and stepped towards him, ignoring the way Ransom was smirking at them from behind the desk. “You don’t work here anymore. And I know it’s been hard - ”

“Yeah, I know, Marta.” Walt looked so uncomfortable Marta’s heart went out to him. “But with dad gone I just thought – “

“Jesus Christ, Walt, stop whining.” Ransom was leaning back in the chair with his hands over his chest. “Did you gamble away the trust already?”

Marta’s face crumbled into confusion and she turned to look at Ransom. “What?”

“You’re one to talk you fucking criminal.” Ransom had clearly hit a nerve because, as Walt took a step towards his nephew, finger pointed aggressively at the man in the chair

Ransom made a puppet gesture with his hand. “Blah, blah, blah.”

“Walt.” Marta grabbed the man’s arm, hoping to de-escalate the situation so she could ask him some questions. “What does Ransom mean? Gambling it away?”

Walt softened as he turned back to Marta. “It’s nothing.” His smile returned, though it was less confident than before. “He’s full of shit, you know that.” His expression changed slightly, and Marta dropped the hold she had on his arm. “Why is he here?”

Marta stiffened slightly at the accusatory tone in Walt’s voice. “He’s who I hired to help out.”

A disbelieving laugh bubbled out of Walt and he enjoyed his amusement for a moment before realizing that Marta wasn’t joking. “Wait – what?”

“Ransom worked with Harlan before – “

“For a summer!” His response came out like startled laughter, as though he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Yes, Walt, for a summer. And he needs a job.”

“So, you’re just handing him dad’s publishing company?”

“It’s my publishing company. He’s working for me.” Marta looked over at Ransom. “I’m not handing him anything.”

Ransom smirked and leaned over the desk before looking back at Walt. “Queen Cabrera has spoken.” He made a dismissive wave of his hand, pinky ring glinting in the sunlight, before he sat back in the chair once more and began to spin it around like a toddler.

“Well.” Walt pulled on his beard and forced a smile. “I guess I’ll get going. Have to get back to the fam, you know. Jacob’s in town, good to spend time with him while he’s not in school.”

“How’s that fascism degree coming along, anyway?” Ransom’s low voice came from the spinning chair.

Walt made a move towards him again, but Marta stepped between them. “Walt. Don’t do this. You know how he is. Let me walk you out.”

Walt nodded and Marta sent the spinning Ransom a glare before she escorted the older Thrombey out of the office. She walked with him to the elevator in silence, ignoring the curious glances of the staff. When they reached the elevator, she pushed the button and gave Walt a small smile.

“It’s good to see you, Marta. You seem good.”

“Thank you, Walt.” Marta resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his insipid flattery. She was saved having to say anything further by the _bing_ of the elevator and the doors opening. “Say hi to your family for me, okay?”

“Sure. Have a good afternoon Marta.” She stood and watched him until the doors closed and then turned around to the receptionist.

“Nancy, how long has Walt been coming into the offices?”

The brunette blushed and busied herself organizing some papers on her desk. “A few months. Maybe eight.”

Marta stepped towards her and leaned over the reception desk. “He doesn’t work here, and I don’t want him here. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Miss Cabrera.” The receptionist looked sufficiently scolded, and Marta momentarily wondered if she’d been too harsh, but then the woman said something else that erased her concerns. “But Mr. Drysdale is allowed in?”

“Yes. Ransom works for me, now.”

“Of course, Miss Cabrera.” The brunette made a sour face but nodded before turning to answer the phone.

Marta walked back towards the office, muttering in Spanish about the nonsense she had to put up with. The door was still slightly ajar, and when she entered, she was presented with the image of Ransom, feet right back up on the desk, thumbing through a three-ring binder.

“God, these people are going to give me a literal stroke. Now I remember why I never come here.”

“Really selling the place, Cabrera.” He continued to peruse the pages before him. “Why did we take such a hit in the third quarter of twenty-nine-teen? Didn’t we do a second publishing of _Drop in the Bucket_ in August of that year?”

“I have no idea. How do you know that?”

Ransom just licked his lips and pointed at the page with his pinky. “There’s almost a half a million-dollar deficit in earnings here.”

Marta stepped around the desk and looked down at the page Ransom had pointed to. She perused the numbers, not able to make sense of them, and then turned to look at him. His face was pulled tight, eyes narrowed while he continued to study the documents in front of him. She felt herself enthralled by the thoughtful expression on his face.

“Is this the only copy of the financials for this year?”

Marta straightened, pulling herself out of the headspace she’d started to slip into. “I don’t think so. I remember looking at two copies, one final, one draft. I think you have the draft.” She walked over to the bookshelf, eyes roving over the binders until she found the one she was looking for. Pulling it from the shelf she walked back to Ransom, holding it out for him. He took it without looking, leaning forward and placing the one they’d reviewed together on the desk before flipping through the second binder.

“Look.” He gestured to the page again. “The final numbers reconcile up with what they should be. No half mil missing.”

Marta chewed on her lip. “Okay well, maybe the accountant made an error and that’s why they revised it.”

Ransom grunted. “Maybe.” He ran his thumb over his lip, a motion she recognized from when they’d play Go. It was his tell for whenever he was working a problem. He flipped through more pages, and she realized he was totally occupied with solving the little mystery he’d found.

“I have paperwork to do.” He didn’t respond so she tried again. “For you. To hire you.”

“Huh.”

“Ransom I need the computer.” Marta gestured at the desk he was now completely monopolizing.

He looked up at her. “What?”

“You know what?” Marta rubbed her forehead in frustration. “Never mind. I’m going to go run some errands and get us lunch.”

“Sure. Get me some eel rolls and a green juice.”

“Why do I put up with you?”

“I genuinely have no idea.” He turned the page on one of the binders and Marta paused, waiting for some sarcastic addendum. When it never came, she grabbed her purse and left him to his musings.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get messy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello readers! Apologies for the delays in the updates recently. The holiday season hit me like a truck and I just had entirely too many things going on. Add onto that the additional editing nitpicks to the last third of this story and, well, my schedule got derailed. 
> 
> Thank you to all the folks sticking with this one! The ride is about to get a little rougher but I sincerely hope you all find it worth it.

When Marta returned nearly two hours later, the office was a wreck. There were binders everywhere, even on the floor, and Ransom had removed his jacket and pushed up his sleeves. He was sitting on the rug, leaning over one of the open binders with a pencil in his mouth, criss-cross apple sauce. He must have heard her because he pulled the yellow writing implement from between his teeth and waved her over.

“Marta come look at this.”

She obliged him, walked over to squat next to him, sitting back on her heels as he pointed at several highlighted rows from another financial report. It was clear he was expecting her to understand what she was seeing, however all she knew was that this was clearly a different binder than the one they’d looked at earlier in the day.

“Ransom what year is this?”

“Twenty-twelve. This was the year Harlan published The Badger. It was one of his biggest hits and was the first of the Menagerie Tragedy Trilogy.”

“Okay. So, what’s the problem?”

“There’s another discrepancy. It’s less than the one from twenty nine-teen, but it’s still over a quarter mil.” He looked up at her and she was struck by the brightness of his eyes. “Did grand-dad ever tell you _why_ he fired Walt?”

Marta shook her head. “No, not exactly. He just said he thought Walt needed to have something of his own.”

“Huh.” He ran his thumb over his lips again and pointed at the page. “I think Walt was embezzling.”

Marta almost fell backwards in her shock. “What? You can’t be serious.”

“You think I’m the only degenerate in this family?”

“That’s not what I meant. I mean, how could he get away with it? And why?”

“I told you, he has a gambling problem.” Ransom tossed the pencil down and leaned back on his hands.

“What kind of gambling problem requires a quarter of a million dollars? That’s insane.”

Ransom shrugged. “Not if you play poker with the mob.”

Marta stared at him, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Have you?”

“Nope.”

“But Walt?”

“Yup.”

“ _Dios mio_.”

“Exactly.”

“Do you even know what that means?”

He rolled his eyes and leaned across her to grab the plastic bag containing their lunch. She lowered herself to her bum and made herself comfortable on the floor while he poked through the food, distributing the items as appropriate. He pulled his wooden chopsticks apart and she couldn’t help the way her eyes tracked the movement of his forearms as he worked on getting a bite of sushi into his mouth. She cleared her throat and returned her focus to her own lunch.

“So, what do we do?”

He shrugged before swallowing his bite and giving her a wink. “Depends on if you want to put another Thrombey in prison.”

“I didn’t put you in prison, you managed that on your own.”

He popped another piece of sushi into his mouth and just gave her an amused look. She rolled the new information around in her head while they continued to eat in silence, her salad decidedly less appetizing now that the implications of Walt stealing from Harlan for years were settling in. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to do, but she felt like she knew what the _right_ thing was regardless. Setting her salad aside, she turned to Ransom.

“Can you prove it?”

“You’d be better off hiring a forensic accountant.” Ransom shrugged before taking a drink of the green smoothie she’d found him.

“This is crazy. I need to think about this.” Marta pinched the bridge of her nose while she tried to process the idea of Walt being so indebted to the mob that he had to embezzle from his own family to cover his debts. “Your family is insane.”

“Oh, you noticed?” He side-eyed her as he stood up, carrying the trash to the bin near the door. “I’m wiped. Can we get out of here?”

Marta shook herself and started to consolidate her trash and leftovers. “Sure. Yeah.” She wasn’t paying all that much attention to Ransom, too lost in her thoughts about the embezzlement, so when she turned to face him and stand up, only to see that he’d extended a hand down to her to assist her to rising, she startled and just stared up at him, momentarily frozen.

“As tantalizing as this position is, I was serious about going home.” He pushed his hand towards her again and she took it, letting him pull her upright with seemingly no effort. Flustered, she brushed the crumbs off her skirt and watched as he grabbed the remaining trash off the floor, tossing it in the trash with his garbage from the meal.

Nearly eight years of financials were spread out all over the floor and desk, and Marta gestured broadly to the mess. “Aren’t you going to clean this up?”

Ransom looked genuinely baffled. “Why? We’re coming back tomorrow and the door locks.” He moved around her to grab his coat and opened the office door. “I’m going to need that key, by the way.”

She stopped in front of him, looking up at him curiously. “How can you be such an asshole and then,” she gestured to the mess behind them, “do something like this?”

“You mean spend all afternoon trying to get my shithead of an uncle thrown in the can for stealing from my family?”

Marta pursed her lips. “Well, when you put it like that…”

“Don’t look for altruism where there isn’t any.”

“I won’t.” Annoyed, but unable to pinpoint the exact cause except for a vague idea that it was _Ransom_ , she pressed the key into his hand. “I’ll let you lock up. You can meet me at the elevator.”

* * *

The ride home was quiet. An awkward sort of silence settled between the two of them that was only broken when Ransom turned off the freeway onto the country roads towards the estate, focusing his attention on her as he slowed the car to accommodate the many curves of the pavement.

“Marta, come on.”

She shrugged, removing her chin from where it rested in her hand, and gestured anemically. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“The hell you don’t. You can’t possibly be pissed that my motives aren’t more fucking sincere. As you said last night, I practically killed Harlan. What makes you think I’d suddenly be worried about Walt ripping him off?”

“I don’t know!” Marta threw her hands up, everything suddenly overwhelming her. “I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore. You’re like this _thing_ I inherited with Harlan’s millions and no matter what I do I can’t make sense of you!”

The silence that followed her outburst stretched on long enough for her to realize she’d hit a nerve. “Shit, Ransom -”

“No, by all means, don’t apologize.” When she glanced at him his jaw was clenched, eyes locked on the road in front of him, sunglasses obscuring his expression.

“I didn’t mean it.” The bile rose in her throat and she fought to keep it down.

He glanced at her as he downshifted and took the turn into the estate’s driveway. “You better not puke in my car, Cabrera.”

She swallowed and nodded, knowing as well as he that the threat of her vomiting was very real.

“Jesus Christ.” He slammed on the accelerator and propelled them down the lane before sliding into the driveway with a cloud of dust.

As soon as the car stopped, Marta wrenched the door open and emptied her stomach all over the rocks. She wiped her hand across her mouth and turned to look at Ransom, who was studying her with a completely unreadable expression. He shook his head at her and got out of the car, slamming the door behind him. The dogs came from the grounds, barking at his presence like they always had. He ignored them nipping at his heels as he let himself into the house while Marta remained in the car, guilt and regret both rolling over her as she struggled with what to do.

“Shit.” She stepped out of the car, careful not to put her shoes in the mess she’d made and ignored the dogs as she jogged up the steps to catch up with Ransom. Dropping her purse on the table next to the door, she called out for him. “Ransom?”

Marta checked the study and the office downstairs before running up to the second floor of the house. The door to his room was closed and she knocked in warning before letting herself in, trying to ignore the implications of her desire to make up for what she’d said in the car. She found him sitting in the cushioned chair in the corner and he glanced over at her briefly when she entered before returning his gaze to the ceiling.

She approached him slowly, electing to sit on the bench at the end of the bed so she could face him. He continued to avoid eye contact with her, and she studied him briefly before sighing and folding her hands in her lap.

“This,” Marta gestured vaguely into her lap, “doesn’t make sense.” He made a huffing noise and she lifted her eyes for moment to see if he was looking at her, but his gaze was still directed skyward. “None of it does. I feel like my whole life for these past three years has been a dream. Or maybe a nightmare.” She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

It only took a few moments for her to realize he wasn’t going to say anything before she continued. “It was safe, talking to you when you were in prison.” He sighed deeply and when she looked at him again, he was staring right at her, eyes narrowed, and mouth set in a tight, cruel line. She licked her lips before continuing, heart hammering in her chest. “But this doesn’t feel safe, anymore. Or maybe it’s just dangerous in a different way.”

“Marta - ”

“It is an immovable fact that you killed Fran.” His lips twisted into a cynical smile and his eyes flitted away from her, hand reaching up to tug on his ear as she continued. “And you tried to kill Harlan, even though – well. No matter what you do, or how I feel,” her throat tightened, and she paused, taking a swallow to alleviate the choking sensation. “That can never be erased.” Marta looked back down at her lap; white knuckles locked together across her thighs. “No matter how much I wish it could.”

The silence was broken by his deep inhale, and when she pulled her eyes away from her hands, his blue gaze met hers, unapologetic and hard.

“You’re a killer, Ransom.” She hated that her voice was shaky, giving away the turbulence of her emotions.

“Jesus, Marta.” He tugged on his ear again and dropped his gaze. The silence stretched between them for the span of several heartbeats before he sighed. “You should go.”

“Ransom – “

“I said leave.” His voice was harsh and low and unforgiving in a way she hadn’t heard from him in years.

She nodded and stood, wiping her hands on the front of her skirt as she stared at him, debating whether she should say anything else before choosing to remain silent. When she took a peek at him over her shoulder as she opened the door to leave, he was still staring at the floor, and with a soft click she shut the door behind her, leaving him to his solitude.

* * *

Ransom avoided Marta successfully for three days.

At first, she was worried that he’d disappeared completely, guilty about the last conversation they’d had, wondering if her harsh words would be the impetus for him to make a mistake and get thrown back into prison. The morning of the second day, however, she heard the distinct sound of the engine of his car starting and the crunch of gravel as he drove off. She had waited for his return, curious more than anything else, only to succumb to sleep before he came home. But he must have at some point because she awoke the next morning to the same sounds as before.

It was clear he was avoiding her and while she couldn’t blame him, she wasn’t prepared for her response to his absence. She _missed_ the asshole.

When he came home early on the night of the fourth day, dogs barking and the sound of his low voice cursing at the animals breaking through her reading, she had to resist the urge to run down the stairs and demand he tell her where he’d been. Instead, she stepped out onto the middle landing and watched as he shrugged out of his coat.

“You’re back early.”

She noticed how he stiffened before turning to look at her over his shoulder, an unreadable expression on his face, and she resisted the urge to apologize.

“Yup.” He started to look away, but she couldn’t stand the thought of his dismissal happening so quickly, so she pushed.

“Where have you been going?” He raised an eyebrow at her. Embarrassed, she continued. “You’ve been coming home so late.”

“Work, Marta. Remember?”

She blinked down at him. “You’ve been at Blood Like Wine this whole time?”

He sighed and turned away from her again before walking towards the study where the dollhouse full of liquor lived.

Marta jogged down the rest of the stairs and caught up to him as he helped himself to a bottle of scotch, remaining silent while he poured the amber liquor into the tumbler. He stared at her as he took a sip, blue eyes over the rim of the thick crystal.

“I thought - ”, she started before deciding he didn’t need to know what she’d thought he might be doing every night. He didn’t need to know that she was _jealous_. “Why did you come back early?”

The glass lowered and she watched his throat work as he swallowed the alcohol. “I had to meet with Mr. Kowalski. He’s a peach.”

Marta’s forehead wrinkled in confusion as she tried to place the name. “Who is - ?”

“Parole officer.” He drained the glass he was holding before placing it on the table and pushing past her.

“Oh.”

She watched him leave the room, seemingly content to complete ignore her, and pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. The hot weight behind her eyes surprised her and with a deep inhale she attempted to keep the tears that threatened at bay.

“ _Mija_ , are you alright?” Marta turned to see her mother’s concerned face poking through the entrance to the study.

“Ransom is back.”

Her mother let out a noise of disgust. “I’d hoped we’d seen the last of him.”

“He was working.”

Her mother raised her eyebrows before shaking her head and stepping into the room. “I don’t understand you two. First you fight, then you treat him like some sort of pitiful creature, then you do lord knows what, fight some more and now, he’s making you cry again.”

Marta self-consciously wiped at the tear that had escaped from behind her lashes. “Mama - ”

“He’s not _worth it_ , _mija._ ”

Marta wrapped her arms around her chest and shook her head at her mother. “Don’t, please.”

Her mother raised her hand to her cheek. “You are a good woman. You deserve a _good_ man.”

* * *

It was early the next morning when Marta sat down at the kitchen table with a piece of plain buttered toast and a cup of coffee. She wasn’t sure whether it was determination to put herself in Ransom’s path before he could sneak away again or not, but she had been up since before the sun rose and after staring at her ceiling for an hour had stumbled downstairs with the dawn.

She got one bite of toast into her breakfast before the quiet morning erupted into chaos. Loud knocking startled the dogs at her feet, resulting in a cacophony of barking and the scramble of their claws on the floor as they moved frantically to confront whoever was disturbing their breakfast. Marta followed quickly, wrapping her sweater around her middle as she tried to see through the glass of the door in order to make out who might be disturbing her at barely seven in the morning.

She reached the foyer as Ransom jogged down the stairs, nearly colliding with him as he yanked the door open. There was a passing moment where she recognized that the threadbare shirt he wore did little to hide his physique before her attention was focused entirely on the team of state troopers on her doorstep.

“Hugh Ransom Drysdale?” A woman in a suit stepped forward, flashing a badge as she did so, jacket revealing a firearm in a shoulder holster.

“Who wants to know?”

“Detective Elizabeth Fitzgerald. Are you Hugh Drysdale?”

“Call me Ransom.”

The detective looked unimpressed, and Marta watched as the woman gave a small hand gesture to the trooper behind her. As Detective Fitzgerald stepped aside, Marta felt her stomach sink.

“Ransom what did you do?”

The man in question turned around to stare at Marta, eyes hard. “I didn’t do shit, Cabrera.”

The state trooper took his moment of distraction to pounce and the next few moments passed in a blur. Marta leapt back as Ransom was suddenly on the floor, two troopers holding him down and cuffing him while the detective read him his Miranda rights in a bored tone of voice.

Ransom was laughing from his spot on the parquet as one officer kept him down with a knee to his back while the other did a quick search. Marta tried to swallow; her mouth dry as dust as she watched the scene play out before her. She stared at Ransom, meeting his eyes as he looked up at her.

“What did you do?”

“Mr. Drysdale is being taken into custody on suspicion of murder.”

“What the fuck?” Ransom sputtered from the ground as the troopers hauled him to his feet.

“Peter Kowalski was found dead in his office this morning. Blunt force trauma to the head. Mr. Drysdale here was his last appointment of the day.”

Marta could feel the blood draining from her face, and she risked a glance at Ransom who was now being held by the elbows between the two state troopers.

“Marta, I didn’t do this.” He sounded sincere, but she didn’t, _couldn’t,_ trust it. She stared at him, watching his jaw clench, a numbness washing over her as she was transported back three years. She remembered the way he manipulated her, toyed with her emotions by making her think he was helping her only to use her forgiving heart and her compassion as a weapon to try to get away with two murders.

And now there was a third.

“You have to believe me.” He pleaded with her as they pulled him out of the house. “Marta, please.”

The numbness was replaced with a sudden fury. How _dare_ he.

“I don’t have to do _anything_.” Her words were harsh, and she watched his face harden in response. Ignoring the warning flutter in her gut she turned back to detective. “Whatever I can do to assist you, to help you,” she stuttered as the reality of the situation began to dawn on her, swallowing hard before continuing. “Please don’t hesitate to ask.”

The other woman didn’t soften an iota as she looked Marta up and down. “I’m sure we’ll have questions for you, too. Don’t leave town.”

Marta nodded, trying to ignore the way Ransom was yelling her name as they tugged him towards the squad car.

“Marta!”

Finally unable to resist, she met his eye as they tried to shove him into the back of the car, his disposition much less tranquil than the last time she’d watched the Massachusetts police take him away. With a shake of her head she backed into the house and looked away.

“God damnit, Cabrera!”

Marta slammed the door with a sob, her back to the solid wood as she took several deep breaths before sliding down the land hard on her bum, her hands covering her mouth as she cried ugly, gut wrenching sobs. Her mother came downstairs, bathrobe pulled tight, hair up in her curlers from the night before, obviously awakened by the chaos.

“ _Mija_? What’s going on? I heard the dogs and thought I saw the police?” Marta looked up at her mother, vision blurred by her tears, watching as the other woman’s eyes widened in shock. “ _Dios mío, lo que pasó_?” Her mother rushed down the last three stairs and knelt in front of Marta, before pulling her into a hug.

Marta pulled her hands away from her face and returned her mother’s embrace, burying her head in her shoulder as she continued to cry. She hadn’t felt this wrecked since after Harlan’s suicide, the emotions simply overwhelming her as she sat on the hard wood floor and clung to her mother like a small child. The feelings bubbling up inside her were oily and hot, the contamination of her equilibrium happening against her will as all the things she’d been trying not to feel came together and soured like milk, curdling inside her and leaving behind a film that she was sure she’d never be rid of.

They sat there, mother and daughter together on the floor, until Marta’s sobs subsided and something inside her calcified, forcing a shudder from her body as she came back to the present. It could have been ten minutes or an hour since she’d slumped down in defeat, she had no way of knowing. What she did know, was that she should have listened to the voice in the back of her head that kept telling her what a bad idea it was to get involved with Ransom. Resigned and feeling sharply broken, she pulled away and stood, helping her mother up as well, before wiping her face with the back of her sleeve.

Her mother’s concerned gaze weighed heavy, but Marta gave her shoulder a squeeze and sent her a brief but reassuring smile.

“Mija - ”

“I don’t - .” Marta cut herself off and shook her head. “I can’t.”

“Come, let’s get some food in you.” Her mother tugged on her sleeve and Marta allowed herself to be escorted into the kitchen where she sat in front of the now cold coffee and stale toast from earlier. She settled in quietly at the table while her mother bustled around the kitchen, picking at the toast while her brain remained on overdrive.

She really had thought he’d changed.

The sick feeling of her skin crawling intensified as flashes of the last two weeks came and went. Marta felt her mind recoil at the memories of Ransom underneath her, of the way he’d made her come undone, the way he’d burrowed inside her in more ways than one. She shuddered and pressed her fingers to her lips.

“Shit.”

Marta reached for her phone, which had been sitting on the table next to her breakfast since she came downstairs, and pulled up her contacts. She tapped the call button and brought the phone to her ear, chewing on the thumbnail of her free hand while she waited for Blanc to answer.

“Miss Cabrera, the sun has barely risen. I hope all is well?”

“No.” She dropped her hand from her mouth and leaned forward to rest her forehead in her palm. “He did it again. He - ” she swallowed down the bile. “Ransom. They arrested him this morning.”

“Good heavens.” There was a pause. “Your family?”

“They’re fine, he promised - .” Marta stopped herself and cleared her throat. “It was, um, it was his parole officer.”

“That is damning indeed.” Marta waited, unsurprised when he began speaking again. “I know that you had expectations of his atonement and had, in fact, attached yourself most intimately to him in the recent weeks. But Marta, and do forgive my presumption, are you _sure_ of his culpability in this matter?”

Marta straightened, confusion causing her features to contract. “What do you mean?”

“What do your feelings tell you? I have learned to trust your instincts and am merely encouraging you to do the same.”

Marta quieted for a moment, warring thoughts giving her pause. Shaking off the small voice that whispered _maybe,_ she replied in a low voice. “He’s a liar. And a killer.”

“Yes. Yes, of course.” There was another pause. “Perhaps, if it isn’t too presumptuous, I could make myself available to you for support, in both a friendly and, might I suggest, a professional capacity.”

“You want to investigate?”

“A mystery unsolved will always be my greatest temptation, Miss Cabrera.”

“I can’t imagine this will keep you occupied for very long.”

“Marta, if I may be so familiar,” Blanc’s slow drawl came to a pause and she braced herself for what was coming next. “I trust your heart. And I suspect, that if you have indeed seen something in Mr. Drysdale to compel you to extend an olive branch, then perhaps there is more to this situation than appears.”

Marta hummed, not sure how else to respond.

“I’ll call you when I arrive in Boston, then, and you can debrief me on specifics. All will be well, Miss Cabrera, I assure you.”

“See you, Blanc.”

She disconnected the call and ran her hand over her head.

“It will be okay, _mija.”_

Marta tucked her feet under her and rested her chin on her knee, quietly accepting the comfort being offered and totally unconvinced that her mother was correct.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Dios mío, lo que pasó? = My god, what happened?
> 
> Find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/mokelly1066) and [Tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/graendoll)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ransom's side of the story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello fair readers!
> 
> I have been really struggling with the upkeep on this fic so I have made the executive decision to release the remaining chapters all at once! Real Life has been interfering a lot lately and my motivation is lacking so instead of making people wait and being inconsistent I decided it would be best to publish this in its entirety.
> 
> I appreciate everyone who has left comments and kudos. I am terrible about replying to comments as a general rule and have been even worse recently, but I want all of you to know I appreciate every single one of them and they bring sunshine to a gloomy day! 
> 
> You may also notice I removed a chapter. I had planned on writing an epilogue, but have since put that idea aside until inspiration strikes. For now this is complete. Hope you enjoy the resolution for these two crazy kids. 
> 
> XOXO - G

“Hugh Ransom Drysdale.”

Ransom looked up at the familiar drawl, his lips curling into a cynical smile. “If it isn’t Colonel Sanders himself. To what do I owe the pleasure, Blanc?”

“I am here on behalf of a friend.”

Leaning back, Ransom leveled a thoughtful stare at the other man. “Marta.” It wasn’t phrased as a question. Ransom knew she’d kept in touch with the detective over the years, what he didn’t know was why he was here now. “She hire you?”

Blanc made a dismissive gesture with his hand before settling into his chair. “Miss Cabrera does not know that I’m here.”

“Huh.” The disappointment that lanced through him wasn’t entirely unexpected, but it still smarted to be so completely abandoned.

“Mr. Drysdale. Ransom. Can I call you Ransom?”

“Get to the point, Blanc.”

“Right.” The detective smiled a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Did you kill your parole officer?”

“Nope.” Ransom popped the ‘p’ and gave Blanc a tight smile.

“I see. Tell me what happened, the night of the murder.”

“Are we really gonna do this?” Ransom sighed.

“I suppose if you’re opposed, I can join Miss Cabrera and her mother for dinner. She makes the most delicious -.”

“Fine.” Ransom tugged on his ear as he tried to recall the events from the night of Kowalski’s murder. “I was at work, Blood Like Wine, and left early because Walt was being a dick.”

“You work for Miss Cabrera?” Blanc’s raised eyebrows communicated his surprise and Ransom felt another punch to the gut.

“She didn’t tell you?”

“I was unaware.” Blue eyes darted away briefly before returning with a smile and a wave of Blanc’s hand. “It’s immaterial. You said Walt was there?”

“Yeah, he’s been loitering, hoping Marta will hire him back. She won’t.”

“You seem fairly confident in knowing her mind.” The hawklike gaze of the detective was unnerving, and Ransom wondered whether Marta had disclosed anything about their relationship to the man in front of him.

“He was embezzling. From Harlan. It had been going on for years.”

“And she told you this?”

“I told _her._ ” Ransom narrowed his eyes at Blanc. “You really didn’t know any of this?”

“Please, proceed.”

“Right. Walt and I argued. I called him a thief, he returned the favor and then some, I went to my appointment with my parole officer, came home, had a drink, fought with Marta, went to bed.”

“You and Miss Cabrera fought?”

Ransom leaned back. “Yup.”

“I see. And what did the two of you argue about?”

“Nothing _material_.” Blanc huffed a laugh. “How is this relevant, Blanc?”

“Forgive me. Let’s focus on the events leading up to the crime. You also exchanged words with Walter?”

* * *

_Since Marta had bluntly called him a killer, damning him in some undefinable way, Ransom had been spending as much time as possible at Blood Like Wine. He got up early, went for a run, then bailed. Speeding off in the beamer before the conflicted nurse had even wandered downstairs to get coffee. He didn’t want to talk to her, didn’t want to subject himself to her earnest decimation of his character, choosing instead to spend his waking hours investigating the felonious embezzlement his uncle Walt had gotten away with for over six years. The feelings that had bubbled up when Marta condemned him to a permanent state of villainy too closely resembled the emotions that had always floated to the surface when he subjected himself to his family and reinforced his desire to remain out of her sight._

_Constantly disappointing people was something he’d gotten relatively good at, comfortably amused by, even, but for some reason it chafed when the disappointment was coming from Marta. She’d been the only person to visit him in prison, had been the one person Harlan had admired above all else if the way he spoke about her before his death was to be believed, and for some reason Ransom found himself acting the sycophant with her against his own self-interest._

_At first, it had been a game. His ability to push her off balance had been entertaining and his forceful entrance into her daily life had amused him no end. They’d become friends, of a sort, over the three years she’d visited him, and while he hadn’t meant any real malice by disrupting her day to day, he did find that it cured the excessive boredom he’d been subject to during his incarceration. The opportunity to continue his good-natured torment of her post release was too good to give up, and he was enjoying the low stakes of the game they’d been playing._

_And then she’d made the mistake of claiming some sort of ownership over him, and everything changed._

_His family had tried to push him from the safety of the Thrombey nest for as long as he could remember, and Harlan’s preference for him was predicated almost entirely on his ability to entertain and create drama. An act he’d grown increasingly resentful of even while he sought out the old man’s affection with a level of desperation he’d never admit to anyone. Desperation that had morphed into resentment strong enough to kill._

_There was nothing quite like being the unwanted black sheep of the family to instill a craving for acceptance that was near dangerous in its intensity. And for some fucking reason, Marta Cabrera had tapped his well particularly deep. Having her condemn him as a killer after fucking him in the office she’d handed him on a silver platter had felt especially demoralizing._

_So, he doubled down on the investigation into Walt’s skimming, reminding himself that the motivation for his efforts was simply a desire to send the prick to prison for a taste of his own medicine and not at all out of a need for absolution. On the fourth day of his investigations, the man in question made another appearance at the publishing company._

_Ransom was sitting on the floor, surrounded by his notes when the knob on the door began to turn slowly. Straightening, he watched as the door was pushed open by someone, their back to the room clearly trying to hide the evidence of their clumsy break-in._

_With a grin, Ransom set his notes aside. “Heya Walter.”_

_The other man jumped and spun to face the interior of the office he’d tried to sneak into. “Shit, Ransom, I didn’t, ah – “ he ran his hand across his beard and swallowed. “I didn’t realize anyone was in here.”_

_“Well gee, Walt, that explains everything.” Ransom stood, stepping around his pile of research and moved towards his uncle. “Didn’t Marta tell you not to come back?”_

_“I just came by to get a few things.”_

_“What things?” Ransom gestured to the spartan office. “Place looks pretty empty.”_

_Walt huffed a laugh, a brief smile crossing his face before he spoke again. “You sure managed to land on your feet, Ransom. After everything. How’d you do it, hm?” The older man tugged on his beard again and shook his head. “Marta’s a good girl, she knows what’s right. Makes me wonder what she sees in you.”_

_Ransom clenched his jaw and tried not to rise to Walt’s taunting, especially considering his words had echoed Ransom’s inner narrator a little too closely._

_“I’m sure she’ll snap out of it.” His uncle continued. “You’ll do something that will show your true colors and she’ll see through whatever web of lies you’ve woven.”_

_“_ My _web of lies? I know what you did.” Ransom watched the color drain from Walt’s face. “You think I’m an idiot? I got a degree in economics. I was Harlan’s research assistant when he wrote Drop in the Bucket. The one where the victim had been skimming off the company accounts for years? Who do you think helped him with the details on that one?”_

_“You can’t prove anything.”_

_“That’s bullshit and you know it, Walt.”_

_The other man lunged, barreling into Ransom’s midsection before the two of them toppled to the floor, Walt attempting to gain the advantage quickly. He miscalculated, however, Ransom’s experience in prison making him an expert in not getting hit, and before Walt knew it, Ransom was up on his feet, a fistful of Walt’s sweater in his hand._

* * *

“Did you hit him?” Blanc was leaning forward on his knees, listening intensely to Ransom as he spoke.

“Yeah, I punched him right in the nose.”

“An assault charge would cancel your parole just as well as murder.”

Ransom licked his lips and looked away. “Yeah.”

“No bother.” Blanc made an encouraging gesture. “Please continue. After you engaged in these familial fisticuffs, what came next?”

* * *

_The location of the office of Probation and Parole was in a part of town that Ransom had never before entered. The building looked well used and most of the cars parked in the underground garage were from the same era as the beamer only instead of being classics they were just pieces of junk. There were a few newer models here and there; a black SUV, a Prius and a Mini Cooper. He noticed them all in passing as he made his way to the elevator and took it to the second floor when he found Mr. Kowalski’s office._

_“This place is terrible.”_

_The older man looked up from his desk. “Mr. Drysdale. Right on time.”_

_Ransom sauntered into the cramped space and made himself comfortable in the antiquated arm-chair placed in front of Kowalski’s desk, ignoring the unidentifiable stain on the green fabric._

_“So, how does this work?”_

_Kowalski slid a specimen cup across the battered wood in front of him. “First things first, you fill this up.” The other man stood and Ransom grabbed the small container with a sneer. “Follow me.”_

_His parole officer led him down the hall to the men’s bathroom. It was a single stall room and Ransom’s face twisted in irritation when the shorter man joined him._

_“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Kowalski just raised his eyebrows, bushy grey above his glasses, and waited. Ransom shook his head in resignation before he worked on the waist of his pants and did his best to act nonchalant while he filled the cup._

_“You do this with all the guys, or just the pretty ones?” He handed over the specimen and tugged his pants back up over his hips._

_Kowalski didn’t respond, instead sliding the specimen cup into the locked transfer cubby in the wall, using a key from his keychain to secure it behind the small door before leading Ransom back to his office. Ransom settled once more in the green chair and crossed his legs while he watched Kowalski get settled._

_“I understand Miss Cabrera made good on the promise of a job?”_

_“Yup.”_

_“And you’re still living together?”_

_“Yup.”_

_Kowalski looked at him over the rim of his glasses. “You seem to have a pretty nice set up, Mr. Drysdale.”_

_Ransom stayed silent. His set up_ had _been nice until Marta had taken it upon herself to re-discover her conscience. The slight twinge of loneliness he felt at the thought of going back to the house and not seeing her was dismissed as quickly as it came. Reminding himself that he was well on his way to putting Walt in prison he smiled at the parole officer._

_“Listen, Drysdale. You stay out of trouble, keep up the job, and don’t fuck up your relationship with Miss Cabrera and we can keep these visits to once a month. Capisce?”_

_Ransom raised his eyebrow and gave a short nod before standing and walking out into the hallway. The building was nearly empty, the only sound was that of a cell phone ringing somewhere down the hall. He made his way to the elevator, taking it down to the parking garage, and then drove out into the twilight._

* * *

“What kind of cell phone?” Blanc’s question pulled Ransom from his story-telling abruptly.

“What?”

“The cell phone.” Ransom’s eyes narrowed at the condescension in the other man’s voice. “You said you heard a cellphone ring as you were leaving Kowalski’s office. What kind of cell phone?”

“How the hell should I know?”

“Would you recognize the ring if you heard it again?”

“Maybe.”

“And when you got back to the house-”

“I told you this part, Blanc.”

“When you got back to the house, you and Marta fought. About what exactly?”

“We fought about none of your goddamned business.” Ransom leaned back in his chair and gestured around the room. “Doesn’t matter anyway, now that I’m here. Again.”

The silence dragged on for a moment too long before Blanc stood, a knowing look on his face. “You keep your secrets if it pleases you, Hugh.”

“My name’s Ransom.”

“Indeed. I’ll see you around, Mr. Drysdale.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some additional questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see A/N for chapter 11.

“Blanc.” Marta threw herself into his embrace after opening the door to let him into the house. When he had offered to come see her and provide some semblance of moral support, she’d been so shell shocked by Ransom’s arrest that she was numb to the whole idea, but now that he was here she was grateful for his steady company.

“Miss Cabrera.” He returned her hug with a tight squeeze before leaning back and placing his hands on her shoulders. “I must say your welcome is a bit more enthusiastic than I was expecting.”

Shrugging, she pulled away and wiped the tears that had escaped her lashes from her cheek with the sleeve of her sweater. “I think I was still in shock when we spoke the first time.”

“Completely understandable.” He gave her an assessing look and Marta returned a curious one of her own.

“Why do I get the suspicion you have something to tell me?”

“Oh,” his response was slightly sheepish, pulling a smile from her. “I may have made another stop before arriving here. Just to appease my curiosity.”

Her smile dropped and she swallowed. “You visited Ransom, didn’t you?”

He held up his hands defensively before answering. “I did. I admit it. My curiosity about this turn of events was eating away at me and I confess I could not bring myself to stay away.”

“What did he say?”

“Oh, he was intractable in his innocence.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.” She looked at her feet. “He’s lied before.”

“I do not believe he is lying this time, Marta.”

Her head snapped up and she gave Blanc a frown. “How can you be sure?”

Wagging a finger at her, he moved past her before turning into the study. “I have a hunch.”

“A hunch?” Marta stopped following him. “Blanc-”

“Let me soliloquize for a moment.” He shrugged out of his jacket and sat, facing her as he crossed his legs and tugged on his tie. “We have before us a seemingly obvious crime. A man, once convicted of murder most devious, who is now associated with yet another death.”

Marta licked her lips and opened her mouth to speak but Blanc cut her off once more.

“But why, prey tell, would this particular crime be committed? Mr. Drysdale has proven himself capable of anything when faced with a threat to his own selfish interests.” Blanc was getting more animated with his speech and Marta watched as he tugged his tie completely loose. “But unless his parole officer was threatening his freedom, he would have no reason to eliminate the poor man. Mr. Drysdale was following all the requirements of his release, ergo what motive would he have to kill?” Blanc pursed his lips together and shook his head. “No, this crime was committed with too heavy a hand to be laid at Mr. Drysdale’s feet. His previous experience with the art of criminality implies he would follow a well-developed plot-line with twists the likes of which his grandfather would have put to paper.”

“You’re giving him an awful lot of credit.”

“I don’t think so.” Blanc looked up at her, his piercing gaze making her uncomfortable at the implications. “You know Mr. Drysdale better than most. Wouldn’t he be more inclined to produce an elaborate scheme in an effort to protect his own interests?”

“I don’t know.” The minute the words were out of her mouth she knew she was in trouble. Stomach gurgling, she shook her head at Blanc.

He gave her a sad smile. “On the contrary, Miss Cabrera, I think you do.”

Marta shook her head again before running down the hall to the bathroom under the stairs, barely making it in time to empty the contents of her stomach into the toilet. She stood, pulling the bottle of Scope out of the medicine cabinet, something she’d stashed there since Ransom had moved in and her need to be less than honest had grown. With a swish she spit into the sink and turned, only to find Blanc standing in the hallway, a sympathetic look on his face. Her eyes were wide, and she felt her face shifting into an expression of desperation against her will the longer they stood there in the silence.

“You’re asking me what kind of murderer he is.”

“Oh, no, Marta.” Blanc’s tone was apologetic when he continued. “I can see how you would think that was my intent, however I assure you that is not what I am hoping to glean from our conversating.” He stepped forward and placed a friendly hand on her shoulder. “I simply am hoping to assist you to admitting the truth which you seem so desperate to keep hidden.”

“And what truth might that be?”

“The truth - ”

A loud knock on the door interrupted Blanc’s speech and Marta, determined not to hear what he was about to say, took the opportunity to step around him and leave the conversation in favor of answering the door.

She had a flash of regret when she recognized the woman on the porch. “Miss Cabrera. Can I come in?”

“Of course, Detective. Fitzgerald, isn’t it?”

“Good memory.” The woman glanced around the house with a critical eye. “You and Mr. Drysdale live here alone?”

Marta blinked, forgetting momentarily that the Detective was operating under the assumption that she and Ransom were together. The twisting sensation in her gut when she considered the truth of that assumption had her hurrying to correct it.

“No. This is my house. My mother and sister live here with me. Ransom was just -” Marta paused, the recent regurgitative episode still fresh in her memory. “Ransom was just here.”

“Huh.” The detective pointed to the study. “Can we sit?”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Marta shut the door and, flustered, led the way to the study. She ignored the look on Blanc’s face, hoping he would stay out of it. Her luck wasn’t with her, however.

“Who’s coat?” Detective Fitzgerald had noticed Blanc’s forgotten blazer on the couch and before Marta could respond, the man himself stepped past her.

“That would be mine.” He extended a hand to the detective and Marta watched as he introduced himself. “Forgive my intrusion, Detective. But if it’s all the same to you I’d like to be present for your cross-examination.”

“That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?” Detective Fitzgerald gave Blanc the once over. “It’s just a few questions.” She gave the two of them a tight smile before continuing “Completely harmless.”

“I’m sure.” Blanc’s smile didn’t reach his eyes as he took the blazer from Detective Fitzgerald’s hand. “But as a friend and someone who has previously investigated the crimes of our suspect, I may be of assistance in your search for answers.”

“If you say so.” The woman took a seat, forcing Marta and Blanc to follow.

“How long have you known Mr. Drysdale?”

“I’ve known him for almost six years.”

“And how long have the two of you been together?”

“You don’t waste time, do you Detective?” Blanc made the observation with a low whistle. Detective Fitzgerald leveled a stare at him, causing him to wave her off in an apologetic manner before Marta answered.

“Not long.” Blanc gave her a look and Marta felt herself flush. “We’re not -”

“Wasn’t Mr. Drysdale’s parole predicated, in part, by the fact that he had a stable romantic relationship? With you?”

“I sup -”

“Did you become romantic before or after he went to prison?”

Marta blinked at the way the woman was firing questions at her. “I don’t -”

“Didn’t Mr. Drysdale attempt to stab you, Miss Cabrera?”

“Yes.”

“And yet, you voluntarily entered a sexual relationship with him.”

“Now hold on just a minute.” Blanc interrupted and Marta pressed her hands to her cheeks, grateful for the diversion. “What exactly are you implying here, Detective?”

“Miss Cabrera, you inherited this house when Harlan Thrombey committed suicide, correct?”

“Yes. Harlan left me everything.”

“And yet Mr. Drysdale was involved in the circumstances surrounding his death.”

Marta flinched. “Yes, he -”

“So now, three years later, you’re living with the man who was partially responsible for you coming into all this money?”

“I’m sorry, but what does this have to do with Mr. Kowalski’s death?”

“Are you a good liar, Miss Cabrera?”

“No.” Marta said, startled.

Blanc’s bark of laughter startled both the women. “A good liar? Heaven’s that is a joke for the ages.” Detective Fitzgerald glared at Blanc, but he was undeterred. “Miss Cabrera has a unique response to untruths, Detective. In fact, not two minutes before your arrival she lost her lunch as a result of a minor fib.”

“What exactly were you lying about, Miss Cabrera?”

Marta glanced at Blanc and swallowed loudly before answering. “We were discussing Mr. Kowalski’s death.”

“And what, precisely, was the lie?”

“I said,” Marta licked her lips and tried to ignore the taste of bile. “I said I wasn’t sure whether or not Ransom had done it.”

“So, you think he might have?”

“Yes.” Marta swallowed, ignoring the way the answer felt like a betrayal.

“Where were you the night of the murder?”

“I was here. Reading.”

“Can anyone corroborate that? “

“My mother was upstairs.”

“She around?”

“No, she’s at the greenhouse with the gardener.”

“What time did Mr. Drysdale arrive home?”

“Eight, maybe? I’m not sure. Earlier than usual.”

“Did he seem agitated?”

“Not exactly. He had a drink.” Marta licked her lips and debated how much to share. “We spoke about his day and he went upstairs.”

“Did you go with him?”

Blanc raised his eyebrows at her, but she ignored him and tried to concentrate on the Detective. “No. He has his own room.”

“What time did you go to bed?”

“I suppose midnight? I stayed up late.”

“And did Mr. Drysdale leave the house at any point?”

“No. He was here the whole time.”

The detective gave her look and then stood, ending the questioning very suddenly. Marta rose as well, hands toying with her sleeves as the Detective stepped towards her. Blanc remained seated, staring off into the distance. Marta was dying to know what he was thinking. She hadn’t told him about her relationship with Ransom aside from the fact that they were friendly and that he was living with her.

As she escorted the detective to the door she wondered if Blanc was disappointed in her. She remembered very clearly their conversation right after the events of three years ago. The look of disgust on his face when she expressed her desire to help the Thrombeys in the aftermath of having their security ripped away from them. She couldn’t imagine he would be particularly understanding about this, about learning that she’d let Ransom under her skin and into her bed.

When she shut the door on the back of the Detective, Marta turned and found Blanc standing in the foyer, gazing up at the portrait of Harlan that she’d been loath to remove.

“I suspected you and Mr. Drysdale had grown intimate, Marta, so wipe that hangdog expression off your face.”

“It was a mistake. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You were, I imagine, thinking that he had changed. That he had been transformed in the crucible of justice and had come out with fewer impurities.”

“Maybe.” Marta wrung her hands and stepped closer to Blanc to look up at the smiling portrait of the Thrombey patriarch. “I know Harlan had always hoped he’d do something with his life. I guess, maybe, I did too.”

“Perhaps there is still time.” Marta snorted and opened her mouth to say something more when the sound of Blanc’s cell phone ringing in the breast pocket of his blazer. “Excuse me.” Marta nodded and Blanc swiped to answer the call. “Benoit Blanc.”

_“I remembered the ring.”_

“Mr. Drysdale.” Startled, Marta flinched before giving Blanc a look of annoyance.

_“It was like an old phone. Like something Grand-dad would have in the house.”_

“Had you heard it before?”

_“Yeah. It’s from an iPhone.”_

“Unfortunately, that doesn’t narrow it down.”

_“You’re the investigator. Figure it out.”_

Marta couldn’t take it any longer. She reached up and yanked the phone out of Blanc’s hand before putting it to her ear. “Ransom what do you think you’re doing?” There was a pause before he spoke.

_“Hello, Cabrera.”_

Now that she had him on the other end of the line, she didn’t know what to say. She could hear his breathing punctuating the silence and all it did was remind her of things she was trying to forget.

_“Marta - ”_

Panicking, Marta hung up, disconnecting the call before she had a chance to regret the action. After a moment of staring at the phone, she looked up at Blanc who was staring down at her with a raised eyebrow and handed it back to him.

“I’m sorry. I just,” she licked her lips and looked away, incapable of admitting out loud that she wanted to hear his voice. “I’m sorry.”

“No harm done.”

“What was he talking about? What ring?”

A spark returned to Blanc’s eyes. “Your Mr. Drysdale heard a cell phone ring as he was leaving the parole office. It may not mean much, but it does seem to give support to the theory that someone else was in the building the night of the murder.”

“So? You’re going to, what? Work with the police?”

Blanc made a face. “I get the distinct impression from Detective Fitzgerald that she would not welcome my assistance.”

“Blanc, why are you doing this?”

With a smile he looked down at her and gestured with his phone. “Because I do believe that even while you may be denying the truth to yourself, that something exists between you and Mr. Drysdale. And that whatever it is, has managed to right his moral compass enough to make the very idea of his culpability untenable.”

“No.” Marta shook her head. “No, he did this once before. He said he would wreak havoc on my life. And now he has.”

“Marta.” Blanc shook his head. “How does his return to incarceration wreak havoc on your life?”

Marta frowned, the obvious answer to the question too terrifying to voice aloud.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Progress is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see A/N for Chapter 11

It was shortly after three am when Marta bolted upright, startled awake by the images that her brain had conjured in her sleep. The dream had been vivid, grisly images of Ransom and his parole officer that propelled Marta from her slumber. Heart pounding she threw the blankets off and walked to the French doors that led to the balcony off the bedroom, opening them and stepping out into the cool night, arms wrapping around her herself as she let her eyes drift over the shadowed landscape.

With a shiver she approached the wooden rails, leaning against them before lowering her gaze. When her eyes hit the familiar silhouette of Ransom’s beamer she felt her heart lurch. For a moment she was flooded with relief until she remembered he wasn’t _actually_ there. She took a deep breath, hoping the cool night air would bring some sort of clarity. As a general rule, she didn’t handle these types of events well. The week after Harlan died, she’d slept and cried so much she’d had a headache for days. After being nearly stabbed by Ransom and dealing with the fallout of his original arrest, she’d stayed locked up in her new bedroom for over a week, reading and sleeping and jumping at the smallest noises while her mother directed the movers. The experience with ICE had taken the longest, with her finally collapsing into a fugue state that lasted ten days after her mother had been released.

But this time it was different. She was exhausted, but sleep failed to offer the same escape it had in the past. Instead she was agitated, the dreams only one manifestation of her state of nervous energy. Her conversation with Blanc earlier had set something alight in her unconscious, some seed of doubt that had her at odds with herself. The feeling was familiar these days, given everything that had happened between her and Ransom since his release. Her constant state of conflict felt as though it was ready to overflow, the nervous energy propelling her towards the precipice of a decision she wasn’t prepared to make. Shivering in the cool breeze, Marta allowed herself a final look at the old BMW before she retreated back to her room.

Blanc’s presence had both consoled and confounded her. She appreciated having a friend who was more concerned with the truth than with judging her, but on the other hand their discussion had got her thinking about things she’d been avoiding for months. Things about Ransom that she’d been resisting. Walking to the bathroom, she switched on the light, filling the glass she’d swiped from her bedside table with cold water before bringing it to her lips, staring at her reflection as she drank. Her thirst sated, she refilled the glass and turned off the light before making her way back to her bed. She slid under the sheets, and crossed her arms over her chest, eyes closed against the view of the ceiling as she tried to relax back into sleep.

* * *

The next morning was quiet, and Blanc had promised to come by shortly after ten. Marta wasn’t entirely sure what she was supposed to be doing, but as she stared down at the book in her lap, words blurring into meaningless squiggles, she was fairly certain she should be doing _something_. Raising her head, she glanced out the window, surprised to see Blanc in his light coat playing tug of war with one of the dogs. Closing her book, she stood and made her way outside.

“I didn’t know you were here.”

With a toss of the stick he’d just retrieved from the animal’s mouth, Blanc turned and gave her a small smile. “Good morning, Miss Cabrera. I did not want to impose upon your solitude before I was expected.”

“It’s fine. Mama stayed in town with Alice last night so I’ve had plenty of alone time.” Marta gestured behind her to the front door which she’d left slightly ajar. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

Blanc nodded and the two made their way to the kitchen, where Marta began to put together the stovetop espresso machine she preferred to use. Alice had insisted on the Keurig, but Ransom had been the only person to use it regularly. Swallowing against the tightness in her throat, she pushed that thought out of her mind before turning to Blanc with a smile.

“It should be ready in a few minutes.”

“Excellent.” His eyes roved over the kitchen and Marta allowed herself to sit gingerly across from him at the small table. The silence stretched and she cleared her throat but couldn’t seem to come up with any words.

“Have you been to the jail?”

Her head snapped up at his question. “What? No.”

Blanc studied her for a moment and she felt like she was back in elementary school, the teacher waiting for her to figure out a complex problem while her brain spun in a desperate search for the answer.

“Tell me about Walt.”

“Walt?” Marta shook her head in confusion. “You know Walt.”

Blanc made a gesture of apology. “Indeed I do. Let me be more explicit, then, in my method of questioning. I was informed by your Mr. Drysdale that Walt had been up to some rather nefarious activities.”

“You mean at Blood Like Wine.” Marta stated, ignoring the ownership ascribed to her of one Ransom Drysdale. “There were some inconsistencies in the ledgers. Ransom discovered them and accused Walt of stealing.”

Blanc’s eyebrows raised. “You were aware of the accusations towards his uncle?”

“Yes, Ransom told me he thought Walt was responsible.”

Blanc nodded thoughtfully. “Did Mr. Drysdale provide a motive for this familial theft?”

“Gambling.” Marta thought back to the afternoon when Walt interrupted her and Ransom as they were reviewing the financials. “Ransom said he thought Walt was in debt to the mob.”

Blanc let out a low whistle. The bubbling of the coffee pot on the stove intensified and Marta stood, leaving Blanc to drum a tattoo on the table while she prepared the fresh espresso.

“Were you aware that Mr. Drysdale and Walt had a rather rousing confrontation the night of the murder?”

Marta sloshed hot coffee on herself and yelped, putting down the pot before running over to the sink to run the burn under cold water.

“Good heavens, Miss Cabrera, are you quite all right?”

Marta turned to see Blanc had halfway risen from his chair and held up her hand, a tense smile on her face. “I’m fine, I’m just clumsy. What did you say?”

Blanc settled back into his chair, leveling a stare at her before continuing. “I was inquiring as to whether, during your quarrel with Mr. Drysdale the night of the murder, he had disclosed to you the details of his confrontation with Walter Thrombey.”

Marta turned off the cold water and wrapped her sore finger in the clean dishtowel before reaching up to the cupboard for the first aid kit she kept in the kitchen. Without turning around, she replied.

“He didn’t mention that, no.”

Blanc chuckled. “Apparently they came to blows when Mr. Drysdale shared his theories.”

Spinning so quickly she almost knocked the first aid kit to the floor Marta replied with a strangled “What?”

“I think Mr. Drysdale hit a nerve. I’d even go so far as to theorize that his knowledge of his uncle’s bad habits was acquired during his incarceration. Certainly if that was something he had known prior to his arrest three years ago he would have disclosed it in order to turn attention away from him as the suspect.”

“So, you think he was right and Walt, what? Threatened him?” Marta was struggling to understand where he was going with this.

“Perhaps.” Blanc gave a shrug as she placed a cup in front of him. “Can I trouble you for some cream?”

“Oh, sure.” She pulled the container from the fridge and placed it next to him before settling in with her own coffee.

“Thank you.” Blanc took a sip from his cup before proceeding. “I’m proposing that after his fight with Mr. Drysdale, Walter felt compelled to act.”

It clicked for her and she froze, the coffee cup halfway to her mouth. “You think _Walt_ killed Mr. Kowalski?”

Blanc waved his hand. “I am not in the business of lobbing accusations wildly without hard evidence to support them, but it is a compelling theory none the less.”

Marta studied the depths of her coffee while she recalled her interactions with Walt. She remembered how he’d threatened her all those years ago. It had been inept, but terrifying. He’d had a cane then due to a leg injury he’d received in some sort of cycling accident, and there had been a restrained violence in the way his hand had tightened on the handle while he’d subtly threatened to have her mother arrested.

“This family.”

Blanc nodded and took another sip of his coffee. “This is, of course, all speculation and based on the confessions of an individual who has a complicated history with the truth.”

Marta nodded, her mind running wild with the possibility that _Walt_ could somehow be involved. She was about to speak again before her phone rang, startling her enough so that she sloshed more brown liquid onto her hand. Luckily it had cooled enough so that she avoided any additional burns.

“Sorry, god I’m such a klutz.” Blanc waved off her apology as she answered her phone, not looking to see who was calling before swiping. “Hello?”

_“Marta. Hi. It’s Walt.”_

“Hi Walt.” Blanc’s ears perked up and he leaned closer, pushing aside the coffee cup and resting his elbows on the table.

_“Hi.”_ Uncomfortable laughter came through the other end of the phone _. “Listen, Marta. I know this is probably the last thing on your mind, what with Ransom getting arrested again. I know you two were close. Anyway, it’s probably the last thing on your mind, like I said, but if you need anything – if the publishing company needs someone to step in, temporarily – “_

Marta recovered from her shock and cut him off. “Thank you, I appreciate the offer, but -”

_“But you don’t need anything.”_ His voice lowered by the end of the sentence, whether from anger or defeat she couldn’t tell.

“I just need to sort out what happened, you know?” Marta chewed on her lip and Blanc gave her a signal she wasn’t sure she was interpreting correctly. “If you want to come by?” When Blanc nodded she assumed she’d done as he’d hoped. “We could discuss it here, maybe.”

_“Yeah. Yes. Whatever’s easier for you, Marta. I just want to help however I can. Dad’s – “_ he caught himself before she could correct him. _“The publishing company is still important to me.”_

“Okay. I’ll be home this afternoon, you can come by then and we can talk.”

Walt agreed and she disconnected with a look at Blanc.

“Is that what you wanted?”

“Indeed, Miss Cabrera.” He leaned back and straightened his jacket. “Walt Thrombey has secrets, it appears, and I find myself eagerly anticipating uncovering those things he may prefer stayed hidden.”

* * *

Walt arrived shortly after two in the afternoon. Marta and Blanc had spent much of the morning discussing everything _but_ the murder and the potential suspects. She suspected it was intentional on Blanc’s part since it was so obviously a source of distress for her, not to mention the fact that even if he had brought it up, she wasn’t entirely sure what she would say. Her mother returned from her time with Alice shortly after noon, arms full of new plant and the gardener arrived shortly after, the two of them spending a few minutes chatting with Blanc before removing themselves entirely and escaping to the outdoor gardens. Marta and Blanc had a quick lunch and walked around the property before returning to the house and settling into the library for more coffee and conversation. They had just gotten into a debate about the health benefits of caffeine when the doorbell rang, signaling the arrival of Walt.

Marta greeted him, tolerating his hug and escorting him to the library.

“Oh. I didn’t realize you’d have company.”

Blanc stood and gave Walt a smile before reaching out to shake his hand. “So good to see you again Mr. Thrombey. It has been an age.”

Walt reciprocated with a tight smile. “Hey there, Blanc.” His discomfort was obvious, and Marta took pity on him.

“Would you like something to drink?”

“No, I’m fine, thank you.” Walt sat, looking unnecessarily stiff as he tried to get comfortable on the couch.

“Let’s catch up.” Blanc began enthusiastically. “Miss Cabrera tells me you’ve expressed an interest in providing assistance during this trying time.”

Marta thought Blanc was laying it on a bit thick and gave him a look, which he acknowledged with a small nod of apology. Walt, on the other hand, didn’t notice.

“Yes. Well, with whatever she needs really. But the publishing company still has a special place in my heart.” Walt paused and tugged at the shoulder of his sweater. “Even if it’s not mine, I want dad’s legacy to thrive.”

Blanc narrowed his eyes for a minute before his face broke into another friendly smile. “Of course. I’m sure having a hand in ensuring the success of Harlan’s work is important to you.”

“Absolutely. Blood Like Wine was my life for years.” He paused, and Marta wondered if he realized the impression he was giving. He must have because he changed directions with his next words. “If Marta’s company needs help, I’m happy to offer up my time.”

“That’s very generous.” Blanc turned to her. “Isn’t it, Miss Cabrera?”

Marta nodded and forced herself to relax and smile. “Yes, the offer is very generous.”

Walt opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by his phone ringing. He looked down and gestured to the screen. “It’s Jacob, give me just a minute.”

He stood and moved into the foyer, as Blanc watched him leave, brow furrowed in thought.

“Blanc, what the hell was that?” Marta hissed as she leaned closer to him.

“Did you notice the ring?”

“What?” Marta glanced at Walt, looking at his hands, seeing nothing more than the gold band he’d always worn. “I don’t see a ring.”

“The ring on the _cellphone_.” Blanc turned up to look at her. “Mr. Drysdale mentioned a cell phone ringing. Described it as the noise an old-fashioned phone would make.”

Marta swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “Yes. So?”

“Miss Cabrera, Walt’s phone just made a very similar sound when his son called.”

“Okay, but –“

“And, he and Mr. Drysdale were at odds.”

“You think it was Walt’s phone that Ransom heard?” Blanc hushed her as Walt came back into the room and settled once more on the couch.

“Jacob’s at college. Kids these days need every little thing.”

“Right.” Blanc managed to draw out the word enough to cause Walt’s forehead to wrinkle in confusion. “Tell me, Mr. Thrombey, were you aware that Mr. Drysdale was the last appointment for his parole officer the night of the murder?”

“Blanc – “ Marta warned but Walt interrupted her.

“What? No. What? Why would I know that?”

“It just strikes me as curious, is all. You must have known that had you informed the police of Mr. Drysdale’s attack on your person earlier in the evening that he would have been in violation of his parole.”

Walt colored slightly. “Ransom’s a jackass, but he’s family. He served his time, and it was a misunderstanding.”

“I see. So, you’re telling me that he didn’t confront you about your gambling problem?”

“What? Marta, is this about the other day?”

“I – “

“Oh, she told me all about the quarrel you had with Mr. Drysdale at the office of Blood Like Wine. Said he went so far as to accuse you of a gambling habit.” Blanc laughed and waved his hand dismissively. “Imagine a family man like you, racking up gambling debts with the mob.”

Walt frowned and looked over at Marta. “Is this why you agreed to see me? So he could,” he searched for the words, “interrogate me?”

“Walt –“

“Mr. Thrombey, I apologize if this feels like an interrogation. Hazard of my line of work, I’m sure. Sometimes my mind becomes so focused on discovering the truth I dig into mundane matters that I’m sure have no mystery associated with them.”

“Of course.” Walt nodded and tugged on his beard, the nervous habit obvious when you knew what to look for and Marta had spent enough time with him to know. His tight smile indicated he was upset and on a whim, she decided to push him.

“Walt, did you do the books for Blood Like Wine when you worked for Harlan?”

“The books? You mean the accounting? Sometimes. I helped out where I could. Did you need help with the financials this year?”

“Honestly, I haven’t even gotten to them yet. I had hoped Ransom would do them. Did you know he had a degree in Economics? I had no idea, but he offered to look at the books and now, well.” She smiled at Walt and watched as he struggled to keep his countenance pleasant.

“Sure, Marta. I’m happy to take a look at them.”

“Thanks. Ransom had started but I didn’t understand what he was trying to tell me.”

Walt tensed and looked down at the watch on his wrist. “Shoot, look at how late it’s gotten.” He stood, Blanc and Marta rising with him. “Let me know when you want me to come by the publishing company, Marta.”

“Of course, Walt.” She walked him out and endured another quick hug from him before opening the door. “Thanks again.”

He waved anemically before walking briskly to his SUV. Marta watched him leave before closing the door and turning back to Blanc, who was looking at her with a smug expression on his face.

“I do believe we have ourselves another suspect, Miss Cabrera.” He flipped a coin in the air and caught it before giving Marta a wide smile.

She groaned. “Just what I need.”

* * *

Blanc had been invigorated by the brief conversation with Walt and while his mood was infectious, Marta couldn’t help but continue to be bogged down by the tempest that was brewing internally. Her horror upon learning that Ransom was possibly responsible for _another_ death warred with something that felt suspiciously like hope; hope that had been fortified by the recent interaction with Walt. Her attempts to ignore both were less than successful but kept her distracted from the most terrifying feeling of all.

Guilt.

She refused to evaluate _that_ too closely, content instead to focus on the other emotions that threatened to spill out of her calm exterior. Blanc had insisted on calling the detective, and Marta sat through the conversation with all the patience of an over caffeinated toddler. After several minutes of listening to the one-sided exchange, Marta could no longer hold it in.

“What is she saying?”

Blanc held up his hand while she paced, nodding at whatever was being said on the other end of the call.

“Blanc – “

“Do be quiet, Miss Cabrera.” He hissed before returning his attention to the call. “Apologies, Detective, please continue.”

Marta stopped directly in front of him and gave him a look, her fingers toying on the hem of her shirt, tugging and pulling at it while she resisted ripping the phone from his hand.

“I see. Yes, that does change things.” Blanc made eye contact with her and she swallowed. “Thank you, Detective.”

“Well?”

“There were no prints left behind aside from those of Mr. Drysdale, Mr. Kowalski, and various other individuals from Mr. Kowalski’s case load.”

The emotional tug of war raging inside her was suddenly won and Marta felt the sliver of hope snuff out with an accompanying wave of nausea. Her agitated state was quickly subdued, and she sat down hard.

“So, you think he did it.”

“Not so fast, Marta. As I’m sure you heard I impressed upon the Detective the importance of reviewing the security footage from outside the building. There are several traffic cameras located at the intersection and it is certainly possible that there might be something of interest on them.”

Marta shook her head. “Blanc, why are you doing this?”

“I am an observer of the truth. And there is something decidedly suspicious about all of this. I simply hope to follow all possible arcs.”

“Gravity’s Rainbow.”

“Indeed.”

* * *

The next morning found Marta unwilling to mope. She had spent much of the previous night participating in self-indulgent hand wringing. After several hours of that with absolutely no progress being made, she had put an abrupt halt to it. Convincing herself, instead, to evaluate everything Blanc had shared with her that afternoon. And after a rather thorough review of his hypothesis, she had finally succumbed to sleep, no more nightmares or disturbing dreams. Well rested for the first time in days, she was determined to set aside her extensive list of reasons to be anxious, possibly even puke, and instead focused on helping Blanc with his newly found project. With that in mind, she pulled out her phone.

_“Miss Cabrera, to what do I owe the pleasure?”_

“Good morning, Blanc. I thought, well I was hoping, you might need my help.”

_“Want to play Watson to my Holmes, is that it?”_

“I thought maybe, yes.”

_“Excellent!”_ Blanc’s enthusiasm was contagious, and Marta felt herself smiling. _“Then I recommend you meet me at the Probation and Parole office. I want to put my eyes on the building, see if there are other possible sources of surveillance footage.”_

This was how Marta ended up in a strange neighborhood in Boston, standing on a corner and toying with the edge of her jacket while she waited for Benoit Blanc to arrive. As she stared up at the building in front of her, she imagined Ransom visiting the bespectacled parole officer. Had they talked about his job? Her? With a jerk she turned away from the building and began to run her eyes over the neighboring buildings. The streetlight changed and the traffic in front of her began moving. With a glance up, she noticed the traffic cameras and wondered if maybe that was something Blanc would be interested in investigating. The high-pitched chirp of a car alarm sounded behind he right shoulder and with a glance backwards she recognized the tall form of Blanc.

“Miss Cabrera, I do apologize most earnestly for making you wait. I am not, perhaps, the best person to be let loose on the streets of Boston with a rental car.” He chuckled a little before looking about him to get his bearings. “Interesting.”

“What?”

Blanc brushed past her and pointed up at the street-light right as it turned green. “Traffic cameras, just as I suspected.” He paused, his arm resting on his hip while he brought his other hand to his lips. “Hmmm. Come and tell me what you think of this, Marta.”

Marta approached him and followed the direction of his finger, pointed at the cameras on the street lights. She followed the line of sight of the camera and found herself gasping. “It shows the whole street.”

“Indeed. I suspect its time I call our resident detective.”

Marta nodded at Blanc while he stepped away to call Detective Fitzgerald, her eyes perusing the various locations of the traffic cameras at the intersection. The Probation and Parole building had a fairly dull exterior with large glass doors that allowed her to see the shadows of the metal detectors and security officers inside. Frowning, she ran her eyes over the rest of the building. By the time Blanc returned to her side, she’d formulated a theory.

“Blanc? Is there another entrance to the building besides the front door?”

“What are you thinking?”

Marta pointed to the glass doors. “There are security and metal detectors here that anyone would have to go through. If Walt _had_ been in the building, shouldn’t there be a record?”

Blanc frowned and gestured with his phone. “Mr. Drysdale mentioned entering via an underground garage.”

A shiver of something ran through Marta. “If Ransom entered through the parking garage, that means so could Walt.”

Blanc looked around. “These traffic cameras aren’t the right ones. We need to find the garage entrance.”

Marta nodded and the two moved quickly towards the Probation and Parole office. While Blanc was taller and longer legged than her, she was very clearly setting the pace, leading the way towards the government building and keeping her eyes peeled for the entrance to the garage. As they made their way around the corner, she saw it. Yellow caution paint identifying the entrance where there was a single gate for incoming and outgoing cars.

“There.” Marta pointed and jogged towards the entrance, brushing her hair out of her face as she slowed and was confronted with a single guard box that currently sat empty. “Look, Blanc, there’s no one watching it.”

“Indeed.” The detective looked up and down the street, attempting to identify any possible traffic cameras. “It appears as though the surveillance state has failed us, Miss Cabrera. Not a traffic camera to be seen.”

Marta continued looking at the building, eyes scanning the side in an attempt to find _something_ that would show a recording of the street entrance. Frustrated she stepped around the large, levered arm that blocked the entrance and made her way down the sloped drive into the darkness of the underground garage. She heard Blanc’s footsteps behind her as she made her way around the edge of the mostly empty car park.

“The security in this building is appallingly bad.”

Marta hummed while she continued her inspection, glancing at the ceilings and walls to see if she could find what she was looking for.

“Miss Cabrera, I appear to have discovered the elevators. Come take a look.” Blanc’s voice came from a few feet away, and Marta stepped around a rather large pickup truck before she saw what he was looking at. Set into the wall behind more glass doors was the elevator well. There were two doors and Blanc was holding open the door to one, waiting for Marta to join him. With a slightly puzzled look, she did, wondering why he was grinning. When she entered, he pointed to the ceiling.

In the corner of the elevator was a single, small, surveillance camera.

* * *

“Yes, Detective.” Marta’s knee bounced erratically while Blanc continued to speak with Detective Fitzgerald. “No, Detective.” Another pause and she began to twist the sleeve of her sweater. “Of course, I completely agree. Absolutely.” Blanc turned to her and rolled his eyes, but Marta was too anxious to find any humor in it. “I look forward to hearing from you. Have a lovely evening, Detective Fitzgerald.”

With a swipe of his hand the call was disconnected and Marta jumped to her feet. “Well?”

“Miss Fitzgerald is aware of the security issues from the parking garage, says she’ll review the footage, et cetera, et cetera.” Blanc was making a motion with his hand that didn’t instill Marta with a lot of confidence.

“Do you think she’ll actually look?”

“She may be quick to judgement, but I am assured that she will do her job most thoroughly, Miss Cabrera.”

“Good.” Marta began pacing. “That’s good, right?”

“Indeed.” Blanc frowned at her. “Marta – “

“I should go see him.”

Blanc raised his eyebrows. “I had thought you decided it was best not to visit.”

Resuming her pacing, Marta threw her hands up. “I don’t even know what to do. I feel like I – “. She stopped pacing and turned to Blanc, gesticulating in front of her chest. “I have all this energy, like bees in my throat. I don’t know what to do with it or where to put it.”

She rubbed her forehead and began pacing again.

“Might I recommend a hot toddy and a nice long rest?”

“I couldn’t sleep if I tried.”

“Miss Cabrera. Marta.” She stopped and looked at Blanc, the sympathy etched on his features, a soft smile on his face that made her want to break down and beg forgiveness for ever having gotten herself into this mess. “It’s too late to go to the jail tonight. Get some rest. I suspect that you need nothing more than some time to work through everything that has happened in the last few days. And, forgive me for my intrusion, but you’d do well to allow yourself to feel whatever it is that you’ve been avoiding since I got here.” He raised an eyebrow at her before standing and pulling his coat from the back of the chair.

Marta rung her hands before leading him to the door, where she stopped and looked up at him. “Thank you, Blanc.”

“Of course, Miss Cabrera.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze before stepping out onto the porch. “Get yourself some rest and I’ll see you in the morning.”

Marta waved at him as he drove off in the rental car before shutting the door behind him with a solid thud. The house was quiet, her mother having been in her room asleep for the last hour. Marta sat on the stairs next to the door and leaned against the banister. Her leg went back to its erratic bouncing while she tried to make sense of everything that she was thinking and feeling.

By the time she sorted it all out, her butt was numb from sitting on the hard wood and her eyelids were drooping. With a sigh, she pulled herself up with the banister and made her way upstairs.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conclusion

The alarm blared loudly, startling Marta out of her fitful sleep. Even though she had been exhausted when she went to bed the night before, she had barely slept, thoughts of what she had planned for the morning swirling through her head. Her solitary thinking the night before had brought her to several conclusions, not all of which were entirely comfortable. But regardless of her internal judgment, she had taken Blanc’s recommendation and had let herself sit with the stormy emotions that had weighed heavy on her chest since the arrival and subsequent second arrest of Ransom. She’d argued with herself until early in the morning, wishing she had a similarly effective signal for when she was lying to herself as for when she was lying to others. But by the time she had pulled herself up the stairs and crawled between her sheets she had answered the most important questions of them all - did a monster deserve love and did loving a monster make you one?

Marta brushed her teeth, trying to avoid staring at the dark circles under her eyes as she revisited the logic she’d followed the night before. It had been eye opening, to say the least. She’d meandered through the history of her relationship with Ransom, including all the time she’d known him before Harlan had died. There had always been _something_. A twinge of interest against her will, and when Harlan spoke of him, she could see the devotion and frustration warring in the old man’s eyes. Perhaps that was why she had been so quick to trust Ransom during the investigation of Harlan’s death, so quick to reach out to him, so quick to accept him back into her life. Her eyes were open to all that he’d done, and _still_ there was the tug.

As she spit into the sink, hair pulled away from her face, she made a decision.

* * *

Two hours later she found herself being wanded by a bored guard at the local jail. It was a different facility from the penitentiary she’d visited before since Ransom hadn’t actually been sentenced and was still awaiting his hearing and the results of the investigation. The guard rifled through her purse without comment before handing it back to her and pointing her in the direction of the visiting room. Instead of the casual lounge she’d played Go with him in at the state pen, this was much more formal. Like a scene from a crime procedural, she found herself staring at Ransom through a plexiglass panel, a worn phone receiver next to her on the wall.

He licked his lips before picking up the matching brown receiver on his side and stared at her until she snapped out of whatever stupor she had been driven into at the sight of his shaved head and black eye. She put the phone to her ear, purse clutched tightly in her lap while her eyes darted over him.

“What happened to your hair?”

“Lice.”

Marta made a face. “And the eye?”

“If I said lice again would you believe me?” He gave her a cocky smile, but it slipped when she didn’t return it. “Why are you here, Marta?”

“I know you didn’t kill that man.”

Ransom’s eyes dropped and he used the thumb of his freehand to scratch as his chin before he huffed out a laugh, the strange acoustics of the phone making it sound especially hollow. “Hallelujah.” There was a pause before he raised his eyes back up to hers. “Do you know who did?”

Marta nodded.

“Can you prove it?”

She nodded again.

Ransom flattened his palm against the plexiglass with a slap. “Jesus Christ, Cabrera, can you fucking say something?”

She licked her lips and swallowed. “I don’t owe you an apology.”

Ransom dropped his hand from the glass and rolled his eyes. “Is that what this is about?”

“You could have killed him. You’re capable of it.”

He leaned back in his chair, pulling the cord of the old handset taught as he pressed the receiver to his chest, head turned to look away from her. She watched his jaw work, the irritation clear in his demeanor.

“Ransom -” She was interrupted by the muffled thunk of his chair as he leaned forward again.

“Times up, Cabrera. I’ll see you around.” He moved to hang up on her and she leaned forward, her own palm pressing into the plexiglass.

“Ransom, wait.”

Side-eyeing her hand, he slowly brough the receiver back to his head. “You have some parting words?”

Leaning forward, she captured his gaze. “Promise me I won’t ever have to ask again.” He blinked and she leaned closer. He had to know what she meant, what she was asking of him. “Promise, Ransom.”

“Promise you?”

“Yes, damnit. My house, my money, my – whatever the hell you are. Promise me.”

His eyes narrowed, the intensity of his stare ratcheting up a notch as he glanced over her face, focusing on her lips for a half beat longer than anything else before he moved his attention to the hand she still had pressed against the glass. Slowly he raised his free hand and ran a finger down the glass on his side, tracing the line of her palm.

“You want me to promise to be a good boy, is that it, Cabrera?” His eyes lifted to meet hers before dropping. “Plan on keeping me on a leash? Just like Harlan?”

“Not just like Harlan.” Marta sighed, remembering the drama that would spiral between the two men, the way Harlan would threaten to cut Ransom off like clockwork, the way Ransom would spew vitriol at his grandfather only to be joking over the Go board the next day. The way the constant tension spiraled out of control until the fateful events that led to Ransom’s arrest in the first place. Her hand slipped on the plexiglass, the sweat on her palm causing the shift as she felt a soft shudder move through her. “ _Never_ just like Harlan.”

Ransom nodded to himself, eyes turned downward still. “Right.” With a shake of his head he smiled ruefully before glancing back up at her. “Your ‘whatever the hell I am’?”

“Well what would _you_ call this?” Marta gestured between the two of them, knuckles hitting the clear barrier.

“I’m just some _thing_ you got saddled with, remember? Like the house, and the money. Only I’m a weakness. An inherited weakness.”

“Don’t be an asshole.”

“Kinda my thing.”

“God, you’re infuriating.” Marta closed her eyes and resisted the urge to bang her head into the plexiglass barrier. Moments passed in silence and if it weren’t for the subtle sound of him breathing, she wouldn’t have known he was there.

“Marta.”

Without opening her eyes, she growled out his name in response.

“You shouldn’t keep your things behind bars.”

Her eyes snapped open in time to see him hang up the receiver and give her a look, eyebrows raised, before he stood up, a guard coming to escort him back behind the secured door and out of her sight.

* * *

Her phone rang while she was driving back from her visit with Ransom, pulling her out of her irritation with him. With a tap on the Bluetooth connection she answered.

“What?”

“Ah, Miss Cabrera. I hope I am not interrupting?”

Marta winced. “Blanc, no. Sorry I was just…nothing. Sorry.”

“Hmm. No matter. I thought you might be interested in learning that our intrepid detective got her hands on the security tape from the elevators in the parking garage. She’s offered, most graciously, to allow us to view it with her since we were the impetus for her discovery.”

Marta felt a thrill of satisfaction. “Yes, let’s do that.”

“Excellent.” Blanc gave her the address and directions to the precinct Detective Fitzgerald called home and less than twenty minutes later, Marta was standing awkwardly in a small AV room.

“We got the tape off the landlord for the elevators. Not sure how my men missed it.”

“You weren’t looking.” Marta said the words before she could stop herself.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I think what Miss Cabrera meant to say,” Blanc looked at her in alarm and Marta had the good grace to blush. “Is that with so much evidence pointing to a particular suspect it’s easy to focus investigatory efforts down the wrong path.”

“Right.” Detective Fitzgerald glared at Marta before pulling out the remote. “Let’s get this over with.”

The grainy black and white film showed a slightly out of focus interior of an elevator with a time stamp in the top right-hand corner. The detective sped through the daylight hours, only slowing down once the timestamp read six thirty in the evening. After a few moments, Ransom appeared, and Marta found herself amused by the way he checked himself out in the elevator mirror before stepping off on his floor. There was another person who entered later, going down to the parking garage. It was an older woman with a badge who must have been another employee of the parole office. There were a couple more employees who took the lift down to the parking garage before the person Marta had been waiting for appeared.

“There he is! That’s Walt.” Marta pointed and watched as Ransom’s uncle stepped into the elevator. He looked nervous, shifting from foot to foot and running his hand over his beard repeatedly before stepping cautiously off the elevator onto the same floor Ransom had exited onto.

“This is the uncle you said Mr. Drysdale had a heated argument with earlier in the day?”

“Yes, indeed, Detective.” Blanc answered but Marta was too busy watching Ransom ride the elevator back down to the garage. He looked subdued compared to his mood when he went up and she wondered briefly what had happened during his meeting with the parole officer.

Several more minutes passed before Walt reappeared. His gloved hands were visibly shaking when he stepped in and he was favoring one of his legs. He mashed his fingers on the button multiple times in rapid succession to get the doors closed and it was easy to see he was talking to himself, possibly even swearing, as he ran his hand through his hair, waiting for the door to close and the elevator to take him back down to the garage.

“All this proves is that he was there.” Detective Fitzgerald interrupted Marta’s observation while flicking her wrist to pause the video with the remote.

Marta chewed on her lip as she digested the detective’s words. “But _why_ was he there? He had no reason. And he was wearing gloves when he left, but not when he entered. That would explain the lack of prints.”

“It’s still circumstantial.”

“Yes, but then so is the evidence against Ransom. And this gives reasonable doubt.” Marta looked at Blanc. “Ransom found out about the embezzling. Surely we can prove that, at least? It all makes sense, Blanc. I gave Ransom the job Walt had when Harlan was alive, Ransom found the proof of Walt’s theft. Walt clearly thought Ransom was going to turn him in.” She stepped closer to Blanc. “You could do it. You could get Walt to confess, I know it.”

Blanc gave her look that made her think he was less convinced of his prowess than she. “I suspect Walt may not break that easily, Miss Cabrera, but I will endeavor to try. Detective Fitzgerald, perhaps we can pay Walt a visit?”

The woman looked between the two of them before she nodded. “What the hell, why not.”

The ride over to Walt’s was quiet, Marta and Blanc sitting in the back of the detective’s car while Detective Fitzgerald debriefed her partner on the plan to trick Walt into confessing.

“Did you finally visit Mr. Drysdale?”

Marta looked down at her lap and fidgeted with the button on her coat before answering. “This morning.”

“And?”

With a glance at the front seat, Marta shrugged. “And nothing. He’s an asshole.”

Blanc gave her an assessing glance before nodding in agreement. “Perhaps it is true that a leopard never changes his spots, but I have seen predators turned to house cats before, Miss Cabrera.”

Marta gave Blanc a small smile, but said nothing more until they arrived at Walt’s home.

When they pulled up the gravel drive, Jacob was sitting on the front porch, furiously typing away on his phone. He ignored them entirely as they made their way to the front door, Marta staring down at him longer than the others, remembering his behavior at the fundraiser. She wanted to slap his face, throw his phone down and stomp on it. With a frown, she turned her attention back to the task at hand, watching the detective rap her knuckles on the door.

Walt’s voice came from inside the house and a few moments later, he appeared in the doorway.

“Can I help you?” He made eye contact with Marta and she saw a flash of something cross his countenance before he reached up and tugged on his beard, an action she now recognized as his tell. A rush of confidence moved through her and she stood up a little straighter as the detective introduced herself and her partner, explaining the reason for their visit.

Walt invited them in, though he didn’t look especially thrilled with the idea of speaking with them. Marta gave him a smile that didn’t meet her eyes as she passed, anticipating how the rest of the visit was going to go.

“Can I get any of you a drink?” Walt sat stiffly in an armchair as the others settled into the living room. Blanc was the first to answer, doing so as he removed his coat and draped it over the back of one of the wingback chairs.

“Thank you, but no.” Blanc opened his mouth to speak again but Walt cut him off.

“You sure? Donna made some lemonade earlier for Jacob – kid loves it.”

Blanc gave him a tight smile. “Ah, no thank you.”

“Sure. Sure.” Walt tugged on his beard, eyes darting between Blanc and the detectives. Marta couldn’t help but notice his unwillingness to look at her. His eyes meandered back to Blanc and dropped his hand from his face. “You wanted to ask me some questions?”

“Does it seem at all odd to you that your nephew, who had been doing relatively well since his release, would suddenly feel compelled to violently attack his parole officer?”

“Odd? No. No, not really. I mean Ransom, well, we all know what Ransom is capable of.”

Blanc assessed him. “Right. The whole Harlan thing, of course. But still, Marta here had given him a job. A job which he’d seemed increasingly dedicated to if his late nights are any indication of his commitment.”

Walt pulled a confused expression. “Late nights?”

“Oh yes,” Blanc gestured vaguely with his hand. “He’d been working twelve-hour days. Of course, you knew this, didn’t you Walt?”

“I -”

“You knew this because the receptionist had been keeping you up to date on all the goings on at Blood Like Wine, isn’t that right Detective?”

“We pulled the phone records, Mr. Thrombey.” Detective Fitzgerald stated the fact tonelessly.

Walt visibly paled but attempted to cover it with a tight smile. “Nancy’s a good kid, she just wanted what was best for the company.”

“Of course, of course.” Blanc nodded, appearing sympathetic, before his eyes narrowed on Walt. “But did you?”

“What?”

“Oh, come now, Mr. Thrombey, don’t be coy! You were well aware of the subject of your nephew’s late nights. In fact, you confronted him the afternoon of Mr. Powalski’s murder!”

Walt went from pale to green. “I don’t – how?”

“Nancy is indeed a good egg. She was more than willing to tell us about the fight between you and your nephew.” Blanc waved his hand over his face. “The bloody nose you received during your fisticuffs with Mr. Drysdale was cleaned up with items from her first aid kit, kept under the reception desk.”

“Yeah, okay. Okay. Ransom and I got into it. I didn’t want him to take advantage of Marta.”

Detective Fitzgerald’s phone rang and she stood, excusing herself with a nod at Blanc before taking the call in the front hall. Marta could barely make out the muffled voices of the call but soon gave up as Blanc had moved on with Walt.

“Of course not. That’s why you were so willing to assist with the books for this year, I presume? Why you were so adamant about staying on at the company? So angry that your nephew, the one you referred to as the black sheep of the family, be given the job you coveted?”

“Yes, damnit!” Walt pounded his fist on the arm of the chair. “I built that company!”

“Oh, come now, Mr Thrombey!” Blanc laughed. “Your father built that company! Those were his books, his ideas, not yours!”

“Dad owed me!” Walt wrung his hands, knuckles white as he glared at Blanc.

The detective returned to the living room before Blanc could respond, nodding to him slightly as she moved to take her seat.

“Harlan owed you, you say? Is that why you’ve been embezzling from Blood Like Wine for the last six years?”

Walt’s mouth dropped open at Blanc’s accusation, and for a brief moment there was silence while he tried to speak. “What?”

“We’ve had someone looking into the books at Blood Like Wine with Miss Cabrera’s permission.” Detective Fitzgerald stepped in, raising an eyebrow at Walt. “Looks like someone has managed to skim over two point five mil from the company since the late Mr. Thrombey put you in charge of the finances.”

“How’s the gambling problem, Walt?” Blanc made the question sound completely innocent even though it was anything but.

“I - ”

“You know, the _gambling_ problem.” Blanc made an impatient gesture with his hands. “The reason why there’s two mortgages on this house and why your little nazi child is at a state school. The reason why you were desperate to stay on at the publishing company and have access to the accounts. The _reason_ why you followed your nephew to his parole appointment and the _reason why_ you framed him for murder!”

Walt stood up and went for Blanc. Detective FItzgerald intercepted him, hand on his chest, her partner rising as well.

“Mr. Thrombey, you’re under arrest for the murder of Peter Kowalski. You have the right to remain silent.”

Marta watched impassively as Walt was read his Miranda rights and escorted out of the house by the detectives. His shoulders had dropped and he looked utterly defeated, and while Marta felt a small twinge of compassion for him, she couldn’t bring herself to stifle the rush of pleasure that ran through her when she realized what his arrest meant for _her_. Blanc laid a hand on her shoulder as he picked up his jacket.

“I have to say, Miss Cabrera, I feel a certain sense of satisfaction watching this family get what’s coming to them.” He gave her look. “Don’t you agree?”

Marta smiled at him, understanding the subtext, and gave a shrug. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Blanc winked at her as they exited the house, Jacob having vacated the stoop in favor of chasing after the detective and his father. It occurred to Marta that she didn’t want to ride with Walt and his arresting detectives, so she pulled out her phone to call an uber. As she swiped to unlock it, she saw a single text message from an unknown number.

_Looks like you can take care of your things after all._

Blanc leaned over her shoulder and she quickly tucked the phone away. “I sense my work here is done, Miss Cabrera.”

Blushing slightly, Marta looked up at the detective. “Thank you, Blanc.”

He waved her off. “No need, Miss Cabrera. I assure you the pleasure was all mine.”

* * *

It was nearly two hours later when Marta finally made it back to the house. She’d called an Uber and waited patiently for it to arrive, hers coming before Blanc’s. They’d said farewell and he’d promised to stay in touch. The ride back through Boston and out to the Thrombey estate took nearly forty-five minutes and by the time she stepped onto the gravel drive, she was tired and hungry and looking forward to a bath.

The fact that she had re-read the cryptic text from the mystery number several times during the drive was of no consequence. It wasn’t like she was expecting him to be waiting for her, but she could admit to herself that she was hoping to see him; that the idea of him rubbing her feet while she drank wine and admired the way his hands moved was more appealing than a solitary soak in a tub. That maybe she’d missed the way he tasted, the way he looked at her sometimes like she was his salvation. The way he called himself _hers._

With a sigh she tossed her coat and bag onto the table next to the door and made her way up the stairs towards her room. When she got to the landing on the second floor she stopped.

“Hey, Cabrera.”

“Ransom.” He was leaning against the door to his room, dressed in one of his ratty sweaters, maroon with a high neck, and a pair of linen pants, his shorn hair giving him a dramatic look. Marta approached him slowly. “You came home.”

Something in his face changed and he straightened, lips twitching as she got closer. “I’m technically still in your custody.”

She stopped in front of him and quirked a brow. “Is that so?”

“Yup.” The word ended with a pop, as was his habit.

They held eye contact for a few moments before Marta gave in. With a palm on his chest she shoved him against the wall and leaned into him, rising up on her toes to brush her lips against his. His hands reached for her hips, spanning her waist, and tugged her closer as she peppered soft kisses across his mouth, teasing him as she kept him pressed against the wall with a single hand. His grip on her waist tightened and he let out a groan as she swiped her tongue across his bottom lip.

“Cabrera you’re killing me.”

She grinned and slipped her hand down in between them, palming at his half hard cock, stroking him until he was fully erect.

“You’re being so good, Ransom.”

He grunted and let his head fall back against the wall, fingers kneading her hips. Marta took advantage of his exposed neck and pressed her lips to his skin, biting and nibbling as she continued to grope him through his trousers.

“Marta -”

“Do you want to be good for me?” She whispered in his ear before she bit down on his earlobe, tugging and pulling another groan from him.

“Fuck, yes.”

“Then fuck me, Ransom.” She released him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “Take me to bed and fuck me the way you want to.”

He looked down at her and it only took a second before he’d grabbed her by her thighs and lifted her up. Marta wrapped her legs around his waist, expecting him to carry her into the bedroom like she’d asked. When he simply turned and slammed her against the wall, she let out a little squeak before he attacked her mouth. She gasped and he pushed his tongue in to tangle with hers as he pinned her, one hand under the curve of her ass while the other began to work itself underneath her shirt, the warmth of his palm running up the cool skin of her belly. He rolled his hips into her and she tightened the grip she had on his shoulders, wishing he had enough hair for her to sink her fingers into. When he palmed her breast, thumb stroking over her nipple, she let out a groan, which he captured by slotting his mouth over hers again, turning their kiss filthy as his fingers pressed into her flesh, clinging to her as though she was his lifeline. Marta moaned and bucked against him, arm going up behind her head to get leverage as she tried to find the best angle for his hardness to press into her. Their movements became frantic and his hand released her tit, scrambling to the fly of her trousers.

Tightening her grip on him with the arm still wrapped around his neck she arched up in an attempt to help him get access to her pants, adjusting her hips so that he could loosen the buttons and slide his hand into her panties. Without preamble he pushed two fingers into her wet heat. They groaned in unison, and as he began to pump into her the grip on her ass weakened until she slid off his hips, feet hitting the ground as he curled into her, capturing her mouth again while he continued to fuck her with his hand.

Marta rolled her hips into him while he tugged at her pants, pulling them down her hips while she devoured his mouth, biting as his full bottom lip, the hand that was braced against the wall dropping to cup his hardness. His rhythm stuttered as she worked at the waist of his trousers, tugging at the linen ties before she finally gripped him, skin to skin, her thumb rubbing over his tip as he yanked forcefully on her panties, pulling them fully off her. The next few moments were a mad scramble of disrobing, Marta kicking off her shoes while Ransom continued to press inside her with his magic fingers as he helped her step out of her pants. Suddenly she was lifted again and as she wrapped her bare legs around his now naked hips, he slid his fingers out of her before lining himself up and pressing his cock into her in one forceful slide, pinning her to the wall once more.

“Fuck, Marta.”

She looked at him then, his face wrecked, a sheen of sweat on his forehead, eyes closed in what she could only describe as bliss. Nipping at his lips, she locked her ankles behind him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders tightly before leaning in and pushing her lips to his ear.

“Come on, baby. Be good for me.”

With a growl, Ransom began to move. With a death grip on her hips, he sank into her over and over, teeth buried in her neck as he sucked at her pulse point. Marta clung to him, rolling her hips with his pace as well as she could, using the wall and the strong muscles of his back as leverage, whispering praise in his ear as he fucked up into her with a desperation she coveted greedily. She wanted his devotion, wanted to _own_ him, wanted to be the only one to make him fall apart and shatter into a thousand pieces. He shifted and hit a spot inside her that had her seeing stars, and the arm she had braced against the wall behind her head slipped.

“Oh god, that’s it. You’re so good for me, baby. I’m so close. Your cock is so good. _Cógeme_ _duro. Es tan bueno_ _._ ”

“You and your fucking Spanish sex talk.” Ransom captured her mouth with his, kissing her dirty as his hand slipped between them and he pressed into her clit. “I’m going to have to fucking learn it so you can boss me around in two languages.”

Marta puffed out a laugh that morphed into a groan as he fingered her clit and swiveled his hips to hit that spot that had her seeing stars. Her breath came put in puffs and as she spiraled up higher and higher she heard herself panting out his name until she came with a cry.

Ransom immediately adjusted his grip on her, gripping her hips with both hands and fucking her through her orgasm so hard she was worried they were going to put a hole in the wall. It only took a few more thrusts before his fingers bit into her so hard she knew she’d have bruises, and with a whimper that sounded a lot like her name he came, pressing her into the wall as though she was the only thing keeping him upright.

They panted together, catching their breath, Marta still pinned between the wall and Ransom’s broad body. She scratched her fingers up his neck noting the absence of his thick locks, pulling a shudder from him.

With a turn of his head, he pressed his face into her neck. Marta felt his lips brush against her skin and twisted to look at him.

Blue eyes met brown. “I promise, by the way.”

Marta brain was still catching up and she looked at him curiously. “Promise what?”

“I’ll be your golden boy.” His cock twitched inside her and Marta felt her lips turn up.

“Yeah? You’re promising to be good for me?”

His eyes tracked hers, dropping to her lips briefly before popping back up. “Marta -"

She kissed him, silencing him with her teeth and tongue. With gentle hands she pushed at his hips, ankles unlocking as she slowly disentangled herself from him before settling her feet on the floor, the warm flood of liquid from their dramatic coupling sliding down her thighs.

When she broke the kiss, she grabbed his hand and walked backwards into his room, tugging him with her, a smile on her face that she was pretty sure matched the grin slowly spreading across Ransom's.

“There will be rules.” He rolled his eyes as she led him to the bed. “And I expect you to be on your best behavior.”

“Liar.” He let himself be pushed down into the mattress, catching her by surprise when he leaned into lick at her puffy cunt, pulling a gasp from her before leaning back on his forearms with a grin. “See? You like it when I misbehave.”

“Fuck you.”

“Any time, Cabrera.”

Marta crawled over him, straddling his hips and frowning down at him.

“Ransom -"

“Don’t. Don’t ruin it with sappy fucking shit.” She frowned at him and he sat up. “Your ex-con, your whatever I am. That’s enough, Marta.”

She took him in, the expression on his face, his half-exposed cock, and the way his bottom lip called to her to suck on it; she was suddenly overwhelmed by the ferocity of her possessiveness. Maybe he was right, maybe it was enough. He wasn’t _good_ , but he was _hers_. With a smile that hinted at the warmth spreading through her chest she shoved him backwards and hovered over him.

“That’s right, Ransom. You belong to me. You’re mine. Now be a good boy and let me sit on your face.”

“So fucking demanding.”

Marta laughed as she crawled up his torso. “You love it.”

“Maybe I do.”

It was the last words he could say for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see A/N for chapter 11

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Twitter at [Mokelly1066](https://twitter.com/mokelly1066)


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